Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (262 page)

Electra felt the assessing eyes of Mrs. Grenville. The woman tried to keep her face impassive, but was not successful. It was clear she knew where William had acquired his wife. Electra had to remind herself that this was a small town and word of William’s marriage would spread like wildfire. This was just the first of many such judgments. Her chin rose defiantly.

“Of course, of course. Come on in, both of you.” They followed Mrs. Grenville’s plump backside into the shop. “It may take some time but we can certainly manage with some ready-made in the meantime. Do you have any preferences, my dear?” she said, turning to Electra.

“Yes, I think so. Although I am unused to dressing for such a climate as this, I imagine I will need day dresses, an evening gown, hats, shoes, gloves … oh, and I require two split skirts for riding. Shall we go inside and discuss it further?”

William raised his eyebrows and Mrs. Grenville looked surprised as Electra took control of the situation. The seamstress then turned to William and ushered him out the door.

“Off you go then, Mr. Radcliffe. Your wife and I have work to do.” The seamstress was already turning Electra to study her shape.

At the door, he turned back to confirm the arrangements they had made for the afternoon. They were to have a late lunch at the hotel where they would spend the night. He seemed pleased about their evening together in town.

Mrs. Grenville drew Electra’s attentions from William. “Never thought that one would marry. But then it would be a strong man could resist the likes of you, my dear.” She began to jot measurements on a piece of paper. “I must admit I’m looking forward to the challenge of clothing you in garments worthy of your beauty, Mrs. Radcliffe. Unless I’m mistaken, there is a sparkling jewel beneath this drab exterior,” she chuckled.

Electra was like a child in a sweet shop. Gasping and ahhing as swathe after swathe of material was proffered for her selection. There were soft linens, Indian cottons, silks, taffeta, and laces, buttons, and ribbons galore. Mrs. Grenville locked the shop door, saying she’d have no one see Electra until she was ready for public display.

By mid-afternoon, Electra stood beside Mrs. Grenville, resplendent in a soft, deep green day gown. The seamstress had fashioned the gown from a journal image some weeks before and adjusted it to Electra’s size. The waist on the gown sat just above Electra’s natural waistline from where it fell to her ankles with two rows of ruching to weigh the hem. On her head was a straw bonnet with a wide green ribbon, the colour of the dress, encircling the crown.

Electra’s eyes constantly strayed back to the mirror, unable to believe the reflection before her. She drew in a deep breath, as she battled the tears that threatened to spoil her new dress. To see herself once more as a woman, not as the miserable convict wretch she had been for more than eighteen months, was almost too much to take in. The normally talkative Mrs. Grenville was silent, obviously aware of the emotions playing across Electra’s face.

Electra’s purchases were placed into the wagon, already returned to the back lane after William had collected a quantity of supplies. She opened the front door of the shop and looked expectantly up and down the street. William was nowhere in sight.

Seeing her disappointment, Mrs. Grenville suggested she ask a couple of the suppliers if they had seen Mr. Radcliffe. As Electra stepped out, Mrs. Grenville stopped her and called through a small door in the back of the shop to her assistant. A young woman appeared in the doorway, curtsying to Electra. “You can’t go running about the streets on your own, take Bess with you,” she said ushering the girl toward Electra.

Electra thanked her, and with the girl in tow, headed down the street. The owner of the Feed and Stock pointed her down George Street to Preston’s, the tailor.

Yes, Mr. Radcliffe had been there, but had continued down George Street to The Rocks. The girl beside her did not speak but every now and then Electra heard a clucking of the tongue as they headed closer to The Rocks area.

A brisk breeze off the water sucked the skirt around Electra’s legs and she clung to her bonnet that threatened to become airborne. They turned a corner and stopped in front of a large, white stone, two-story building.

“I wonder if this is it, Bess?” asked Electra.

“I wouldn’t know, mum. Perhaps we had better ask again.”

“Good idea.” She looked around and spied a rough looking character leaning against the wall of a narrow fronted building across the road. Without waiting for Bess to accompany her, Electra crossed the road and confronted the man.

“Excuse me, sir, I am looking for a gentleman. If I describe him, would you be so good as to tell me if you have sighted him recently?”

The man grinned, as his eyes roved insolently over her body. “Wha’ you need is a real man, sweet’eart, not some prissy gen’leman.” He leaned over, breathing powerful alcoholic fumes into her face. “Now me, I’m all man.”

As his hand reached toward her, she screamed. Bess had reached her side and, with the man’s mocking laughter in her ears, pulled her back across the street.

“It’s all right, mum. He wasn’t going to hurt you. He just mistook you for someone else. Why don’t I take you back to Mrs. Grenville’s?”

The girl’s calm, practical manner quelled the panic and after a few deep breaths, Electra was able to speak. “Thank you, Bess, you are right, I overreacted. But I think I will still find Mr. Radcliffe as we shall both be safer if he escorts us.” She had no doubt that her overreaction was due to her experience with Seaman Critchley. How long would it take for his violent molestation to be erased from her memory? She remembered the girl beside her and forced a smile.

Bess hailed a young lad who approached them with a sack of kindling over his shoulder. By a stroke of luck, he had seen the gentleman in question and described the house he had entered. Electra thought it strange that he grinned throughout the description but, with her destination so close, put it out of her mind.

Minutes later, they were hurrying down a side street, following the boy’s directions. Electra had to admit to a sense of excitement at presenting her “new look” to her husband. As they turned down Carter Lane, she vaguely heard Bess protest at something, but Electra hushed her and continued.

“That has to be it,” Electra muttered. Half a block away was a house fitting the boy’s description. The front door was painted a bright red with a large red lantern above it and each window was covered in different coloured curtains. She stopped in her tracks as she realized just what sort of house it was. Unbelievably, at that moment, her husband stepped through the doorway and turned to bow over the hand of a brightly dressed, blond-haired woman. They appeared intimately acquainted.

The shock sucked the air from her lungs and turned her stomach. She drew in a deep breath as Bess tugged at her sleeve.
Dear Lord, she could not let him see her here.
Electra picked up her skirts, turned, and ran, a confused Bess in close pursuit. “Are you being chased by a ghost, love?” said a surprised Mrs. Grenville as Electra burst breathlessly through her door.

“Huh, huh … ,” she panted, trying to speak. “Please, when Mr. Radcliffe arrives, don’t tell him I went to find him. I haven’t left your shop,” she pleaded with the curious seamstress.

Electra plopped onto the stool behind her and fanned her face agitatedly. Minutes later, the door opened to admit a smiling, good-humoured William Radcliffe.

He stopped abruptly as his eyes swept over his wife. “You are an absolute vision, Electra. It will be worth every penny you extort from me, Mrs. Grenville.” He raised his hat to the seamstress and held out his arm to his wife.

“I can walk without your help, thank you.”

William looked questioningly at Mrs. Grenville, who shrugged and shook her head. Bess stood beside Electra, her eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown, her mouth pursed in disapproval. Electra turned and marched out the back door to the wagon.

He climbed onto the wagon next to her. “Would you like to eat now?”

“No, I just want to go home.”

“You mean back to the hotel?”

“No, not the hotel. I want to go to Riverside.”

“It will be hours before we reach home and we have eaten nothing since breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up quite an appetite,” he said.

“You’ve what?” she said in a high-pitched voice.

A deep primal rage urged her to slap and kick the detestable man, but even slapping him was too kind. He was worse than that vermin, Critchley. At least
he
never pretended to be better than he was.

“You disgusting, insufferable cad.” She could no longer hold back the tears of humiliation.

“What nonsense is this, Electra? I have no patience for histrionics.”

She refused to look at him. The man didn’t even have the decency to feel embarrassment. The thought of being married to such a philanderer doused any pleasure she had felt in her new clothes.

When she didn’t answer him, he angrily turned the horses for home. “Very well, we’ll go back to Riverside, but I’m beginning to question my decision,” he said, his voice hard and sure.

“As am I, sir. Do not doubt it.”

It seemed fate, in leading her to marriage, was not to be trusted after all. There were few choices for a woman in her situation.

However, there was one she could make.

Chapter Five

By now they would know she was gone.

Shi Liang would alert William when she did not appear for breakfast and a search of her room would reveal her belongings gone. Those she had arrived with, at least. Electra’s pride had not allowed her to claim the new clothes purchased by William. He could give them to his next convict wife for all she cared. She was done with William and Riverside and would not return. Even if he begged.

The sight of a large green wattle tree, its soft feathery foliage offering respite from the sun, brought her to a stop. She pressed into its shade and wiped the dust and tears from her face with the hem of her skirt. Shi Liang had washed the smock clean but now the blue cloth was streaked with grime. The calluses on her hands were healing and she sighed at the thought of again spending her days at the female factory, bent over greasy piles of wool. She straightened, peered down the long, empty road and pushed such thoughts aside. No, this was the right decision; at least she would not be one of William Radcliffe’s whores.

As she stepped back onto the road, she was startled as the rumble of hooves bore down on her. Had William come after her? Her eyes darted around, seeking a place to hide, but her feet betrayed her and refused to move, and her fickle heart pumped faster. She jumped back as Callum reigned in both his horse and the chestnut mare he had in tow. He swung his leg over the horse and jumped to the ground.

“Weel lassie, ye’re out and about early then? Was our hospitality no’ to your liking?” he said, with a small grin as he reached to take the bag from her.

William had not come. Instead, he sent Callum to drag her back like an errant child. She firmly suppressed the heavy feeling of disappointment, annoyed at her weakness. And directed an angry glare at William’s messenger.

Callum turned his head to hide, unsuccessfully, the chuckle that vibrated his bushy beard. “Ah, lass, ye’re a picture of misery, ye are.” He pulled out a large handkerchief and wet it from his water container. As she tried to twist her head away, he gripped her chin and wiped the grime from her face.

At the fatherly gesture, Electra felt the anger fall away. She did not resist when Callum’s huge fist swallowed her small hand as he led her back under the tree.

“Now lass,” he said gently, “what’s this all about then?”

She sucked in her breath, a sob catching in her throat as the words tumbled out. “Why did he want a wife if he goes there? I know it is a marriage of convenience, but must he humiliate me? He has acted abominably.”

“Och, lassie, one thing at a time. What do ye mean by your first question? Where did he go?”

“A whorehouse. In Sydney Town. He has demeaned and insulted me by visiting a whore while I was with the seamstress.” She stopped, astonished at her language. Callum did not flinch. “I may have lost my good name but I have not lost my pride.”

“What makes ye think he was with a whore yesterday?”

“I saw him, with my own eyes. I sought him out to show him my new gown and saw him come out of the house in intimate conversation with one of those women.” Even the memory humiliated her.

“Would the lassie in question be young and fair-haired?”

Electra nodded, surprised at Callum’s admission. “So you know the one I mean? I presume he sees her regularly.”

“And were ye running back to yon factory then?” Again she nodded, sniffing back another sob. He shook his head. “I ken it canna have been easy for ye to trust people in the past. But I’m going to tell ye a story about yon blond-haired lass and then we’re going to turn around and go home.”

“I’m sorry, Callum, I know you mean well but I will not go back.”

“Will ye let me tell ma story first? Then ye decide what ye must do.” She shook her head, about to refuse. But Callum had been so kind to her, the least she could do was listen.

“All right, Callum.”

He took a breath, gestured for her to sit and settled himself on the grass beside her. “Ye see, lass, wee Molly Preston has worked the streets as a prostitute since her mam up and died when she were nae more than thirteen years. One evening she took money from a seaman at a seedy pothouse in The Rocks area. He was mad with the drink and was cruel with her. He would have left her for dead had Will no’ heard her screams as he passed the alley.”

Despite her anger, Electra felt sympathy for the poor child. And a niggle of doubt crept in regarding William. “Callum, how awful. What did he do then?” she asked.

“He threw the vile wretch from her and rescued the poor wee lass. She was verra badly beaten and he paid for a doctor to attend her. There was no doubt she’d go back onto the streets, so he offered to find her domestic work.”