The Convict and the Cattleman (9 page)

Over the hearth, a large oil portrait of a couple dominated the wall. Mr. Andrus bore a striking resemblance to the man, clearly a likeness of his parents. They looked proud, and a little haughty. The painter had captured the woman’s smiling eyes. Bridgit recognized the same warmth in Mr. Andrus’s gaze when he smiled. She’d like to meet them, but he’d never said whether they were alive or not, just that the station was named for his mother.

A heavy marble bust of an ugly man with a hawkish nose and a wreath of laurels on his head commanded her attention. He looked ghostly under the dust. She wiped the top of his curly head, the leaves and the oversized nose. Next to the statue, a set of medals was displayed in a dark frame. War medals for valor and bravery. The dates indicated they were Mr. Andrus’s grandfather’s. Something to be proud of, something that made the Andrus family different from most people.

Rapid pounding at the front door startled her. Grabbing the mantelpiece, she steadied herself.

A visitor?

Bridgit hastened off the chair as the knock came again. Martha appeared in the doorway.

“Should I get that?” Bridgit asked.

A scowl adorned Martha’s lined face. “It’s part of your job. I’m the cook. I don’t answer doors.” She whirled and returned to the kitchen.

Bridgit brushed her hands off and left the room. The knock sounded again, so fast it seemed urgent. Smiling timidly, she opened the door.

“May I help you?”

A tall, dirty man stood there. His eyes registered surprise when he looked at her. He held a battered hat and he tousled his sun-bleached hair with his free hand. The state of his dust-covered clothes and face suggested he’d come a long way. A straight nose and square jaw made his eyes stand out despite the grime on his face. She had the strangest feeling she’d seen the blue of his eyes somewhere before.

“Hello miss, I was expecting old Martha. I always knew if Jonah had any sense he’d give her walking papers.”

Bridgit glanced over her shoulder before she answered. “I’m afraid Mrs. Jackson is still with us. I’m the housekeeper.”

He cracked a grin. “Ah. Well, if you don’t mind, I’ve come to see Miss Charlotte.”

Bridgit arched an eyebrow. “Might I inquire your name, sir?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked past her, like he expected Charlotte to round the corner at any moment. “Robert Langnecker. You can call me Rob, if you like.”

The man Farjana and Rupert had mentioned. Curious and unnerving. He fit the image of a bushranger. “Wait here, sir.”

His smile faded. “She’s going to refuse to see me again, isn’t she?”

Nervous, Bridgit tried to smile, but failed. “Please, just a moment.”

She shut the door with force and lifted her skirt. She all but ran for the kitchen, nearly colliding with Martha.

“Who is it?”

She didn’t see how she could send him away. Perhaps Martha would do it instead. “A Mr. Robert Langnecker, ma’am. He wants–”

“To see Charlotte. Tell him he can’t. She isn’t receiving visitors, especially the likes of him,” Martha snapped.

“Has no one told him that she passed?” She couldn’t imagine why not.

“It’s none of his concern. Tell him she’s ill, you fool.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Praise the lord that you didn’t let him in. He’s like a stray dog–feed him once and he’ll never leave.”

“But, ma’am, it isn’t right to withhold information. He’ll only come back,” Bridgit said, worried Mr. Langnecker would see through her lie.

Without warning, Martha raised her hand and slapped Bridgit across the face. Shocked, Bridgit lifted her hand to the stinging skin.

Martha pointed at the doorway. “Go. Do not question me.”

Tears of pain burned Bridgit’s eyes. What had she done wrong? No one had said she’d need to lie to strangers. Gritting her teeth, she stomped out of Martha’s kitchen. She wouldn’t set foot inside it again until the woman left. At least until Olivia’s stomach demanded feeding.

“Old biddy,” she muttered as she opened the door once more.

Mr. Langnecker and Rupert argued in the yard, waving their hands and talking over one another. Farjana watched from a short distance away. Worry flashed in her dark eyes.

“There, she’ll tell you. Isn’t Charlotte waiting for me, miss?” With a look both hopeful and worried, he settled his gaze on her.

Bridgit shook her head. “I’m afraid that she is not receiving visitors. She’s rather ill.”

Concern filled his eyes. “Has someone sent for the doctor, at least?”

“Yes, sir. And Mrs. Payne has been helping. She may be recovering, but she’s still not well enough to see anyone.” She lowered her gaze to the smooth wood of the porch.

“Come on, mate. Jonah will have a fit if he sees you hangin’ ’round here. You’re not his best chum, you know.” Rupert settled a firm hand on Langnecker’s shoulder.

Bridgit shut the door and leaned against the wall. What was going on at Laurie Lark?

The door opened and Farjana slipped through it. She pressed her fingers against Bridgit’s cheek. She frowned, shaking her head. “That old woman is a menace. Why did she hit you?”

Bridgit brushed off the concern. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you for caring, but I can take a licking as well as anyone.” The spot was only a little tender. She supposed it was an angry red against her light skin, but it would fade before Mr. Andrus saw it. If she even had the courage to look at him.

“I’ll tell him what she did. He’ll speak to her and she won’t lay a hand on you again,” Farjana promised.

“Heavens, no. All I need is more trouble.”

“There’s plenty of it today, Miss Bridgit. Rupert didn’t see Langnecker, or he’d have turned him away before he made it to the door. I don’t know why we can’t tell him the truth. He’s been sniffing ’round here for months trying to get a look at Miss Charlotte. Mr. Jonah thought he would go away sooner.”

“Why is he asking about Charlotte?”

Farjana glanced to make sure Martha wasn’t within listening distance. She pulled Bridgit aside. “He was a convict and he spent the last of his sentence working for Mr. Jonah. The droving time came and Rupert went along to care for the horses. Langnecker was left here to mind the place. He and Miss Charlotte became close. Some of the jackaroos say he’s Olivia’s father.”

Bridgit’s jaw dropped. “Shouldn’t Mr. Andrus confront him? Why would he keep Olivia’s birth a secret?”

“Miss Charlotte never admitted it to anyone else. No one knows for certain. Langnecker went on an expedition to the west. It’s opening up and he thought they might grant him land out there. He was gone well before Mr. Jonah returned from Port Jackson. Well before Miss Charlotte started showing.” Farjana glanced toward the door as if she expected someone to burst through it. “Langnecker doesn’t know about Olivia.”

“It isn’t right. Someone should tell him that poor Charlotte has passed on, at the very least,” Bridgit said.

Farjana shook her head. “Mr. Jonah believes Langnecker will go back to Western Australia. He has not, but becomes more and more persistent. Rupert keeps an eye out for him.”

It explained why Mr. Andrus looked grim upon the news of the ex-convict’s visit. She could hardly wait for Martha’s rendition of the goings-on. The old woman would tell it as Bridgit cordially inviting Langnecker to tea, and conspiring with him to rob Mr. Andrus blind.

* * * *

Olivia stubbornly refused to burp. Bridgit patted the baby’s back, bouncing her while she walked. Footsteps thudded on the porch, announcing Mr. Andrus’s return. Either he was in a hurry, or he’d caught wind of Mr. Langnecker’s visit. If she gambled, she would have put money on the latter.

“Martha! Bridgit!” The windows rattled with his call. Bridgit, baby on her shoulder, went to greet him. It was no time to worry over the previous night’s occurrences.

“What did he want?” Mr. Andrus demanded. His eyes blazed and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

She thought he’d have an apoplexy if he didn’t calm down. Clearly their stolen moments were far from his mind.

“He asked to see your sister.” Bridgit bounced Olivia again. “I know you don’t want him in the house, so I turned him away.”

“He didn’t try to force his way in?” The question carried a measure of suspicion.

Bridgit shook her head. “He was polite enough, but seemed relieved it wasn’t Martha at the door.”

His hand mussed a path through his hair. “He’s tangled with Martha before. Damn his hide. Don’t answer the door if he’s at it anymore.”

“No, sir.”

Olivia burped and followed with a coo.

Mr. Andrus frowned, his brows drawn together as though he thought the noises were unnecessary.

Bridgit smiled and rubbed Olivia’s back. “We’ve waited on that for more than a few minutes.”

Martha burst out of the kitchen, waving a flour-covered finger at Bridgit. “Jonah! Thank the lord. That rascal Langnecker was back today. He nearly got in because of her.”

Mr. Andrus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Farjana tells me you’ve been rough with Bridgit. I thought we discussed that already.”

Martha looked contrite as a schoolgirl. “Now, Jonah. She was being smart. She didn’t get anything more than she deserved. You did say it’s my duty to see she remembers her place.”

“Bridgit, you’re dismissed. Martha and I need to have a few more words on the subject.” His voice left no room for argument.

Farjana was right about trouble in the air. She hadn’t reached the stairs yet when she heard Martha protesting.

“I don’t like her. I don’t like having her in the house. I know she’s thinking of all the things she can steal. Looking over every item, moving them around. Why, have you seen the parlor? Everything is out of place.”

“You know things have to be moved in order to clean them.” Mr. Andrus used a pacifying tone.

“If she changes everything, how will we keep track? Mark my words, things will start disappearing. Your sister’s jewelry, the good silverware, your grandfather’s medals. Who knows what she’ll purloin. If you give her liberties, she’ll walk all over you.”

The old woman sounded outraged. Bridgit wondered if sitting in the kitchen all day with her hands tucked under her would appease the cook. Angry and disgusted, she stomped up the stairs, hoping Martha heard every step. She wished Farjana hadn’t mentioned the slap. It didn’t hurt anymore and hadn’t left a mark. Bringing it up was only going to make things more unpleasant between them.

Putting up with Martha was not as bad as living at the Factory, but walking on eggshells around the old woman was not what she’d hoped for. It was clear where Mr. Andrus’s loyalties lay. He’d do everything to keep Martha happy. That was fine, just fine. She wasn’t as fussy as the old woman. Let him pat her hand and tell her the miserable excuse for a nursemaid would be gone soon.

Only when she heard the jingle of harness and the clop of shod hooves on the road signaling the cook’s departure, did Bridgit’s tension lessen. Mr. Andrus sat alone in the dining room with dinner.

During her self-imposed exile, she’d done some exploring through the closets. Her bold actions were rewarded when she discovered Charlotte’s sewing basket. It contained colorful scraps of cloth and was well stocked with supplies. Yard after yard of muslin, calico, checkered prints, and flower-patterned cloth were neatly folded in brown parcels. Ribbons and a few bits of fine lace were tucked at the bottom. A treasure chest of material. Content and pleased, Bridgit carried it to the parlor where she chose a deep, high-backed chair.

She imagined the tiny gowns she could make for Olivia and even dress up a bonnet or two with a few ribbons. It had been so long since she’d apprenticed at the hat shop. Her heart pounded with excitement. Sewing gave her the same peace chanting prayers gave monks.

It didn’t take her long to pick out some matching colors of thread and start embroidering a pink flower with tiny stitches. Involved in her design, she forgot everything else.

Mr. Andrus cleared his throat. Bridgit looked up. Her hand stilled, the needle pulled halfway through the cloth. She offered him a timid smile. He didn’t return it.

“I hope you don’t mind. I found these things and I’m a fair hand at sewing.”

He looked between her and the muslin. “You mentioned something about millinery.”