Heart of the Country (3 page)

He glanced around. It was early yet – the auctions weren't due to start for another hour. He'd tethered Treasure a way off in the bush as he certainly couldn't sell her in the bazaar itself. There was plenty of activity around him: there were men bringing in horses and other men inspecting them, their deep voices mingled with the gentler tones of the few women who had braved the early hour to accompany them. He was looking for someone more gullible.

“Oy! Watch it.”

Septimus twisted at the loud shout. His eyes widened. He dipped his head and tugged down the brim of his hat. The lad who'd shouted was leading a horse with each hand. A man had been in his way … a young man Septimus summed up immediately as a new chum, wet behind the ears. From below the brim of his hat he watched as the younger man stepped over a pile of horse dung still steaming in the cool air, adjusted his grip on the new saddle he carried and walked further into the bazaar. Septimus followed a short distance behind.

“Take a look at this one, sir.” A man beckoned. “He only needs a bit of feed and he'll do you proud.”

Septimus watched as his target looked from the man to the poor bag of bones he was tending and shook his head. At least the new chum seemed capable of recognising sorry horseflesh. After wandering a little further into the bazaar the fellow suddenly hefted the saddle higher and turned back. Septimus dodged out of the way between two horses then followed his mark at a safe distance.

In a clearing at the end of a lane, the fellow stopped beside a loaded bullock dray. Septimus watched from the corner of a building. He wasn't comfortable here, so close to the madam and her young trap, Harriet. If he hadn't been certain he'd found the buyer for his horse, he'd be on his way.

The fellow lowered the saddle to the ground next to a large trunk. He lifted the lid and peered inside. He reached into the trunk and lifted out a silver hairbrush, turned it over in his hands and stared at it a moment, then suddenly dropped it back into the trunk and lowered the lid.

He stood back and straightened his shoulders. He was dressed in the same brown trousers, white shirt and brown coat as you would see on half the men around; there was nothing special about him, though he was tall and Septimus conceded he emanated a look of strength. He was perhaps in his early twenties, so a good ten years younger. The sound of the bazaar grew louder as the auction began. A look of determination spread across the fellow's face as he turned to look in that direction. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped away from the dray.

Perhaps he wouldn't be so easily fooled but it was now or never. Septimus moved directly into his path and was struck by the new chum's shoulder. “Careful there,” he groaned. The collision hadn't been forceful but he staggered back against a fence as if it had.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The younger man reached out a hand to steady him. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”

Septimus remained doubled over. “Knocked the breath out of me, that's all,” he wheezed.

“Would you like to sit?” The man cast a hand towards the trunk beside the dray.

“That's very kind.”

Septimus hobbled forward, leaning slightly on the offered arm, and sat himself down.

“Will you be all right?”

“Just need to get my breath back,” Septimus gasped.

“I should have taken more care.”

“No harm done.” He brushed at the arm of his jacket and made sure his hat was pulled low on his head, casting a shadow over his face.

“Thank you for your generosity.”

“It was an accident. No need for people to be unsociable on such a fine day.” Septimus turned his lips up in a smile and ran a finger along his pencil-thin moustache. He glanced into the deep brown eyes studying him carefully.

“Since we've run into each other perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Seth Whitby.” It slipped off his tongue easily. He'd needed an alias several times before this. He had spent a lot of time perfecting the fine manners and speech patterns of a gentleman.

“Thomas Baker.” He shook Septimus's hand in a firm grip. “If you're sure you are well, I must be on my way, Mr Whitby. Once again I must apologise for my clumsiness. I'm afraid my mind was on other matters.”

Septimus continued to grip his hand. “It must be important business that has you in such a rush.”

“I have a new job.” He slipped his hand out of the grip. “I require a good horse.”

“Then you are in the right place,” Septimus said and stood up.

“Yes.” Thomas nodded in the direction of the bazaar. “I've looked at a couple of fine animals here. It is my hope to secure one of them at a good price.”

Septimus flung out his hands. “Well, Thomas, isn't that amazing? We are not only moving in opposite directions but have opposite duties today.”

Thomas hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Only that I am about to head out bush and I must get my horse ready for sale.” Septimus put one hand to his chest. “Reluctantly, of course, but it is surplus to my needs. I am in a hurry to be gone and it appears I am too late to put my fine animal into today's auction.”

“And I have held you up.” Once again Thomas started to leave.

“But perhaps …” Septimus laid a hand on his arm. Thomas was slightly taller but Septimus stared directly into his eyes. A frown crinkled the other man's forehead. Septimus slid his gaze away.

“Yes?” Thomas asked.

“Well it's just that – maybe our accidental meeting could be of benefit to both of us.”

“How so?” Thomas turned slightly at the loud call of the auction beginning.

Septimus leaned in closer. “We are both anxious to be on our way. You need a good horse and I have one to sell. If I wait for the next bazaar I will be held up from my departure by a few days and time is money.”

“I'm not sure I …”

Septimus could see Thomas was torn between the proposition and the sound of the auction starting without him.

“Hear me out. You have my word as a gentleman. The horse is an excellent animal. As good if not better than anything on auction today, and he's used to the bush. I need to be on my way so I am prepared to sell him below the price I could have got at the bazaar.”

Thomas hesitated.

“I have him tethered nearby. And as I'm a desperate man and you seem like a genuine fellow,” Septimus lowered his voice, “you could take him off my hands for, let's say, fifteen pounds.”

He tipped his face so the brim of his hat kept the shadow across his face, but his eyes held Thomas's gaze.

“I'm not sure.” Thomas said. “I'd need to see the horse.”

“Of course. He's not far from here.” Septimus placed his hand on Thomas's shoulder. “Come with me now and if you like him he will be yours immediately.”

The younger man looked back at his dray attached to the bullocks.

“We won't be long,” Septimus said.

“It's the trunk. I was going to find somewhere to store it. The things inside will be no use to me on the road.”

Septimus eyed the trunk. No doubt half of what it contained was worthless but he had seen the silver hairbrush. “I may be able to help you there as well,” he said, once more smoothing his moustache with the tip of his finger. “Like you, I have things I don't need on the road. There's a woman lives quite near here, my landlady, looks after a few items for me. I could add your trunk to mine.”

Septimus ran a caressing hand over the trunk. Landlady was a generous name for Mabel, though of course he wouldn't be taking Mr Baker's trunk anywhere near the brothel and its troublesome inmates. “She charges.” He smiled. “But if you add another pound to the purchase of the horse I am sure I can cover it. You'll be gone a year or more, I am assuming?”

“To tell the truth I don't know when I'll be back.”

“That's settled then,” Seth said. “I'll come back for it once we've dealt with the horse.”

Thomas kept looking at the trunk. Once more there was hesitation.

“We'd better move quickly now. There's a lot to do and I want to be on my way by midday, as I'm sure you do too.” Seth put a guiding hand on the younger man's shoulder and pointed towards the street. “The horse is out along this way. Bring your saddle.”

He strode off. A quick glance over his shoulder saw Thomas following him. Septimus felt the familiar warmth of success spread through his body. He had hooked his man, and now it was simply a matter of concluding their business, coming back for the trunk and leaving Adelaide for the bush.

Harriet crawled out from under the dray and sat on the trunk watching the place where the two men had disappeared into the bush. For a moment there she had thought the good-looking stranger must have seen her. He kept staring towards her hiding place, but now she realised it was the trunk that had his attention.

Septimus hadn't seen her either. She had been feeding the chickens when she'd seen him pass by. He was walking strangely; dodging along fences, peering round corners, so she decided to follow him. When she realised he was watching the tall stranger, she'd edged her way around behind and under the dray to see what held his interest.

She hadn't seen Septimus for weeks but for a while he'd been her lover. He used to have an old trunk stored in Mabel's stable and he came across Harriet there one day. She saw he was a chance at escape from the whoring life she knew was laid out in front of her. Harriet knew Mabel was saving her for the right well-paying gentleman; someone who wanted a young, untouched woman. It was nearly her birthday, so it wouldn't be much longer. She decided to make her own destiny.

She'd learned a lot from observing the other women at their work. She recognised the lust in Septimus's eyes when he realised she was a virgin. He was aroused by the fact he was her first and only lover. He had been gentle with her and even paid her a few coins. Then he became a regular, secret visitor. Harriet got to know his body and what he liked done to it. He was much older than her and so handsome with his thick dark hair and piercing grey eyes that mesmerised her. She grew besotted with him. Then one day she let slip her true age. She was only thirteen, soon to be fourteen. She had a body that was developed beyond its years and Septimus had made the most of it, but since he'd discovered her age he hadn't come back.

That had been a few weeks earlier and she hadn't seen him again until this morning. He'd been in such a hurry and with the new coat and the hat pulled down over his head, she'd nearly not recognised him.

Now she was puzzled by what she'd heard. Was he Septimus or Seth? She didn't know all his business but she was pretty sure the only horse he had was the stock horse that pulled his wagon. The way he'd been speaking it was as if he'd owned this other horse a long time.

She'd also seen the crash between the two men. Septimus had sidestepped into Thomas whoever he was, she hadn't caught his last name, and yet he had let the fellow believe the accident had been his fault.

Harriet leaned her head back against the dray. The trunk beneath her was warm. She closed her eyes, loosened her shawl and wiggled her bare toes in the grass. She turned her face to the sun and inhaled deeply. The air was so much fresher away from the stinking house, where the harlots' cajoling and the men's gratification filled her ears. Wet weather had kept them all inside for so long it was a joy to escape.

Harriet shuddered and pulled her dirty shawl back around her breasts. Thankfully she was young; that and Mabel's promise to Harriet's dying mother meant she hadn't been put to work in the bedrooms yet, but it was only a matter of time. Of course Mabel didn't know about Harriet's liaisons with Septimus – the red-cheeked madam would carry on like a headless chook if she were to find out. Harriet kept quiet and earned her keep, cleaning up after the other women and helping in the kitchen.

“Can you see me now, Mother?” she murmured. “What must you think?”

She felt a pang of loss for her mother. Harriet's childhood had been a happy one. She'd been well fed and loved by both her parents, even though her handsome father had been rarely at home. Their little cottage on the edge of the bush near Port Phillip had been filled with laughter and happiness and even more so when he was with them. It had naturally all fallen apart when her father's real wife had arrived from England. Harriet discovered her mother was her father's mistress and, as the result of their union, she was a bastard. Her father had been forced to send them away or lose the money his wife's family had given him to set up a new life in Australia. He was otherwise penniless.

They had travelled to Adelaide but his promise to follow was never kept, forcing them to take refuge at Mabel's when Harriet's mother, with poor sight from failing eyes, was unable to find other work. The meagre purse of money they had left with was soon gone. They had been at Mabel's little time at all when she had taken sick and died. It took another year for Harriet's hope that her father would come for her to be totally destroyed. Mabel and her whores were her only family now.

A wave of longing for the cossetted life she had lost swept over her. No point in that. She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself. Somehow she had to make a change. Now that she knew Septimus was still around she would work out some way to lure him back. He was her ticket out of her predicament and besides, she missed him and what he did to her body. She knew Mabel would soon expect a greater return for her charity.

“That's not for me,” Harriet muttered. “I'm not going to live my days flat on my back in a whore house.”

She was startled from her reverie by a sudden movement beside her. She didn't have a chance to turn before rough hands grabbed her, one on her breast and one on her mouth. She gasped in some air through the dirty fingers and tasted mud. She struggled but someone had her firmly in his grip. Bile rose in her throat as she sniffed in a breath and the overwhelming smell of pigs engulfed her. Both her arms were pinned to her sides. She kicked with her feet as the man dragged her backwards, behind the dray. She wriggled and twisted. The arm around her body gripped tighter, squeezing the air from her lungs, forcing her to inhale another sickening breath.