Heart of the Country (43 page)

Thomas laughed at the joy on the lad's face. “Welcome to Wildu Creek,” he said.

After the meal, Timothy, happy to entertain Joseph, quickly made a friend of him. The little boy eventually fell asleep in his arms.

“Time for us to turn in,” Zac said. “It was a wonderful meal as usual, Lizzie.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Baker,” Timothy said.

Thomas took the sleeping child from his arms.

“I'll check Terrett is still secure on my way,” Zac said.

Thomas nodded. He'd already taken some bread and water to the man and checked him then. Terrett had roared abuse for quite a while after that but he'd quietened down again now. Joseph curled into a ball as Thomas tucked him into his cot. He ran a hand over his son's fair head, the same colour as his mother's. How different this homecoming might have been, had he taken longer, or had Zac been occupied elsewhere. Thomas pushed the terrible thoughts from his mind.

“I think you've chosen well with your new shepherd,” Lizzie said when he went back to the kitchen. “Timothy's a bright young man.”

“Keen to learn.”

“He reminds me a little of you when we first met.” Lizzie chuckled and collected the plates from the table.

“Was I that green?”

“Yes, and look at you now. You have your own run and sheep from here to beyond.”

“I don't know, Lizzie. I hope I'm not chasing something that will always be outside our reach.”

“Why do you say that?” She came and sat beside him again.

“Our wool cheque was a few bales short.” Since George's loss to Wiltshire, Lizzie had been dead against borrowing money, and now Thomas had all the more reason not to tell her about his loan.

“How could that happen?”

“I don't know. I want to talk to Zac about it.”

“You don't think he –”

“No.” Thomas had been over and over it in his head and he couldn't believe Zac had anything to do with it. “He might be able to fill in some gaps between leaving here and unloading at the port, that's all. Anyway, it means I've perhaps spent too much in taking on Timothy and buying the new ram.”

“Losing a few wool bales won't be the end of us.”

“The provisions will have to stretch further.”

“We never go without, Thomas.”

“I know, but I wanted to get something for you and Joseph. The last time I bought you a gift it didn't turn out so well.”

Lizzie laughed. “Nothing wrong with my straw bonnet.”

Thomas glanced at the fraying hat on the hook by the door. She had discovered the grubby calico bag he'd brought home on that first trek with the sheep before he'd been able to get rid of it. She'd packed the dress for Annie in a trunk, hoping there'd be another little girl one day and wore the hat often. The ribbon that secured it in place made it the best thing for windy days, she said.

“I'm happy with my new mulberry tree. I'm going to plant it among the vegetables.”

Thomas shook his head slowly. “You have to work so hard, Lizzie. I want better for you and for Joseph,” he said.

“We've both got everything we need right here,” she said and leaned close to kiss him.

Thomas kissed her back, then thought of the lovely things he'd seen at Wiltshire's house: his mother's things.

Terrett began to call out he was cold.

“Damn Wiltshire for employing such a vile man,” Thomas said and gave the table a thump with his fist. “You know I missed seeing him in Port Augusta, but I went to his house. It's full of things that belonged to my mother and I'm still no wiser as to how he came to possess them.”

“You spoke to his wife? Harriet?”

“Yes. There were several things in her house that were my mother's, including the heart locket Mrs Wiltshire wore around her neck. It has the letter H etched in it in a filigree pattern. The H was for Hester.”

“Or for Harriet. I remember her wearing it,” Lizzie said and put her fingers to the locket she still wore around her own neck. “He may have said they were his mother's to explain the name in the books. Lucky for him his new wife had a name beginning with H.”

“Damn the man.” Thomas rubbed at the thick stubble on his chin. “First he sells me a stolen horse then he takes my trunk load of family possessions.” He frowned. And now a man he didn't trust held their note of debt. “I must have been a fool.”

“Just a bit green.” Lizzie laughed and gave him a gentle poke. “It's in the past.”

Terrett bellowed loudly.

The smile left her face and she shivered.

Thomas stood up. “I should just leave him, but we'll get no peace tonight if I do.”

“I'll get a blanket.”

“No. We've got little enough for ourselves. I'll drag the canvas from the wagon over him.”

When he came back inside, Lizzie was sitting on the edge of the bed. Only a candle lit the room. Her cheek was purple around the cut and wet with tears.

“Lizzie,” he said. “What is it? Are you sure Terrett didn't … harm you.”

She shook her head. “Gave me a fright. Knocked me about a bit. That's all.”

He sat beside her and pulled her close. “My dear sweet brave Lizzie. I'd like to kill him myself. Part of me wishes I'd let Zac do it.”

“Then you'd both be as bad,” Lizzie whispered. “Neither of you are that kind of man.”

He stroked her hair. Rage simmered within him as it had when he'd found her sprawled on the ground and Terrett baled up by Zac. He'd kept it in check until Terrett had let forth with his goading laugh. Thomas had hit him and had wanted to keep hitting him and he knew Zac had felt the same. Perhaps they were barely better than the man they detested.

“I'll be all right,” she said and eased from his arms.

He watched her pull herself carefully upright. Then she turned her smile on him. “We'd better get to bed. You have another early start in the morning.”

Thomas unbuttoned his shirt, turning as she shrugged out of her dress. There was a deep bruise on her arm. He went to her and gently removed her shift. She shivered before him. Thomas let out a groan at the sight of several other bruises on her body.

“That bastard,” he muttered and helped her slide under the covers. He lay beside her and gently held her.

“I'll be glad once you've taken Mr Terrett away,” Lizzie whispered. “Promise me you'll take care, Thomas. He is an evil man.”

Thomas felt her shiver again. Carefully he held her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“I will, my darling Lizzie. I will.”

“This is getting worse and worse.” Rix spat a fly from his mouth. “How much further?” he called.

Septimus drew in a breath, stopped his horse and waited for the wagon to roll to a stop beside him. “We've been on Smith's Ridge country since we came through that last stand of tall gum trees above the creek. You're nearly home, Mr Rix.”

“Home.” Rix went to spit again but with Septimus right beside him he thought better of it. “I told you Pavey and me preferred town life to being out here.”

“Had you minded
my
business and kept
your
mouths shut you could still be in Port Augusta, but the constable somehow got wind of our last cargo.”

Rix flung a look at Pavey, who was on another horse droving the sheep Septimus had purchased.

“You'll be out of sight up here,” Septimus said. “We'll all have to keep our noses clean for a while.”

He was still angry over the constable's discovery of the extra exports in the last two ships to dock at the port. Rix had become too brash and Pavey too slack. Septimus had lost a lot of money in the confiscation of those goods but he couldn't step up and claim them. They hadn't been his in the first place and the owners might recognise them. No, it was best they let their port dealings go for a while until things cooled down.

Fortunately for him, his new inn had done well in its first few months of trading, despite the dry winter, and he still had Smith's Ridge and the potential it offered. Terrett had done a good job of managing the place but the fool had mistreated a native. Septimus thought of the sweet delights offered by his own dear Dulcie. There was no need for violence. The pompous Baker had trussed Terrett, tied him in a sheep pen and delivered him to the constable.

“Lucky for you I need a new overseer and with the extra stock I've bought, there will be more than enough work for two shepherds. Neales will be glad to see you.”

The frown was still firmly stuck on Rix's face. “We've no experience with sheep.”

“I am confident you'll learn.” Septimus leaned forward in the saddle. “If you want to keep working for me.”

Rix scowled but didn't say any more.

“Onward,” Septimus commanded. “We want to make the homestead before dark.” At least he wouldn't have to listen to Rix's complaints for much longer. He rode off to the other side of the mob of sheep. He'd used his inn money to purchase them at a good price from yet another farmer who'd fallen on hard times. Septimus smiled. How often had he made money over the years from someone else's misfortune or mismanagement? There were many fools to be fleeced in this country. He patted his saddlebag. It contained several notes of debt he held over properties. One in particular was his prize possession.

The smile left his face a few miles further on when he got down from his horse to check the bodies of two sheep. Flies buzzed all over them and maggots crawled out of their eye sockets. The stench from their swollen bellies was sickening. He moved a few feet away and surveyed the rough country around him. There was not a blade of grass to be seen. There were more carcasses off in the distance. Neales would have some explaining to do.

The late-afternoon sun pounded down and reflected back at them from the rocky ridge above as they reached the hut.

The wagon rolled to a stop. Rix groaned. “You call this a homestead?”

Septimus watched him try to spit with no result. “There's another job for you.” Septimus climbed down from his horse. “You can build a new hut.”

He looked around. There was debris of human habitation everywhere but no sign of Neales. The carcass of a sheep hung from a tree in the shade with one leg missing. Only one of the water barrels remained upright with a lid on it. Bones were scattered by the fire with tin plates and upturned wooden boxes. Away to one side was a stinking mound of wool crawling with maggots.

Septimus stepped up to the rough, one-roomed dwelling and kicked the door with his boot. The smell of stale sweat and rotten food wafted around him. He put his sleeve to his nose. The hut had two raised wooden boards that served as beds, and was carpeted with a jumble of clothing, dirty plates and food scraps, but Neales wasn't among it. Septimus stepped around Rix, who was trying to see inside.

“You might need to live under the canvas until you can build a new hut,” he called over his shoulder.

Rix growled in response. For the next few hours, Septimus sat in the shade of a tree, taking sips of water and watching Rix clean out the hut. Pavey kept out of his way, busy unloading the wagon and stacking the provisions in the rough lean-to behind the hut. By the time the sun was a low orange ball in the sky, he'd set a fire going. The smell of roasting meat had Septimus's stomach rumbling. One thing about Rix: he might grumble but Septimus had discovered he was reliable and kept the idiot Pavey in check most of the time. Rix was the brains and Pavey was the brawn. Up until the recent upset at the port it had worked well for all of them.

They'd just made themselves at home by the fire, sitting on the upturned boxes, plates of meat and potato on their knees, when Neales rode in.

He slithered from his horse and struggled to stand upright. He was filthy, with a temper to match.

“You've brought more sheep,” he yelled.

Septimus glared at the man. When Terrett had been there he'd hardly spoken, let alone in such a manner.

“Lucky I have, Mr Neales,” Septimus said in a steady tone. “You seem to have let quite a few of my other sheep die.”

“There's no water and little for them to eat. Didn't you see the bodies along the way here, you fool?”

Rix gave a low growl, put down his plate and rose slowly to his feet. “You don't speak to your employer like that.” His thick body was twice the bulk of Neales's, who looked much thinner than the last time Septimus had seen him.

“Who are you?” Neales pulled the hat from his head and looked from Rix to Pavey. His hair was plastered flat with sweat and a dirty brown line ran across his forehead.

“I am the new overseer. Mr Rix to you.”

“That's all I need, another bloke with no brains telling me what to do.”

Quick as a flash Rix crossed the space between them. He twisted Neales in a headlock.

Septimus could hear the fool gasping for breath as Rix put pressure on his neck. “Don't harm him too much, Rix,” he said. “You will need him.”

Rix held Neales a moment longer then let him go. Neales fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Rix put a boot on his hand and twisted it. The other man let out a guttural cry. “You ready to do what you're told, Mr Neales?”

“Yes.” Neales's reply came out in a whisper.

“Good, because my friend Pavey has used some of that sheep you've helped yourself to and cooked us a fine meal.” He crossed back and picked up his plate. “You got enough for this fellow, Pavey?”

“Plenty.”

“There you are, Neales. You go and get cleaned up and you can come back and eat with us.”

Neales struggled to his feet. The filthy clothes he was wearing were even dirtier now. He threw a cautious look at Rix then began to hobble towards the hut.

“And Neales.” Rix spoke through a mouthful of food. “You can sleep under the stars tonight. Pavey and me are having the hut.”