Dust on the Horizon Page 10

  “She’s gone?”

  “She was persuaded it was for the best.” Malachi met his gaze. The younger man’s jaw was clenched and his dark brown eyes narrowed. “She left not long after you.”

  Henry smiled. “Very good, Mr Hemming, very good.”

  The bell jangled over the door. Malachi’s lips lifted in a neat smile.

  Henry turned to the lady who’d just come in, the stationmaster’s wife. She was an older woman, short of stature but always smartly dressed and a very good customer.

  “Mrs Taylor. How lovely to see you on this cold day. I don’t believe you’ve met my new assistant, Mr Hemming.”

  “Hello, Mr Hemming. I assume you are taking over from Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “I am, Mrs Taylor.”

  “I saw you put your wife on the train, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “Yes. She is going to Adelaide to be with her mother for the delivery of our baby.”

  “Very sensible. Now I am hoping you still have some of that Hathaway Oil. Mr Taylor says it’s helping relieve his leg pains and we’ve nearly emptied the bottle.”

  Henry went towards the cabinet behind the counter which housed all manner of oils, ointments and pills. They had proven so popular he had moved them into the shop, but Malachi was a step ahead of him.

  “Let me help you with that, Mrs Taylor. We have the oil in stock and Mrs Wiltshire instructed me before I left to be sure to show you the delicate lace collars that have recently arrived.”

  “How very kind of her to think of me when she has so much else on her mind, I’m sure. She knows I like to dress well. Just because we live hundreds of miles from decent civilisation there’s no need to lower one’s standards.”

  “Indeed, Mrs Taylor. They were Mrs Wiltshire’s very words.”

  Henry smiled. He was sure Catherine wouldn’t have said that but Malachi had the right idea. Henry patted the paper in his pocket. He could leave his customers in Malachi’s capable hands while he worked on a plan for his farming properties.

  Ten

  “Good night, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  Harriet smiled as the last of her staff left the shop. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Wicksteed.”

  Harriet went to close the door then changed her mind, opened it instead and stepped out onto the path. It had been a warm day for autumn and now the Adelaide evening had a golden glow. The air outside was still and balmy, and there was no need for her jacket. Several people passed by and O’Connell Street itself was still busy with horses, carts and wagons.

  She looked up and down the wide stretch of road and inhaled deeply, thankful again that she had found such a wonderful premises to set up her blooming business. The ladies of Adelaide travelled to her door not just for her embroidered linens but for her beautifully tailored outfits suited for every occasion, from undergarments to bridal trousseaus. This bigger shop was much better than the small place she’d rented in Hindley Street when she had returned from Port Augusta and it had the benefit of living quarters at the back which suited her very well. There was a milliner next door, then tea rooms, and beyond that a grocer who grew much of what he sold on the nearby fertile plains.

  Adelaide had changed so much since Harriet’s mother had brought her here as a young girl after her once happy childhood had been destroyed. The father Harriet loved had been forced to abandon them and her mother had become ill and died, leaving twelve-year-old Harriet in the care of a whorehouse madam. Septimus had saved her from a certain future as a lady of the night. She had loved him so much back then. They had travelled around the bush selling their wares to farmers, pastoralists and people in small towns. Once Henry had come along Septimus had installed her in a hut on his remote hills property. She suspected that’s when things had started to go wrong with their relationship. Harriet shuddered. Thankfully by the time Septimus died she had established her reputation as a fine seamstress in Port Augusta. With his money and what she’d saved she’d been able to turn her back on their early existence and make a fresh start with Henry in Adelaide. She’d told her son little about her difficult early life and he certainly had no idea of his father’s indiscretions. Harriet had worked hard to build a new respectable life in Adelaide. She would stop at nothing to keep her fine reputation and that of her son.

  “Good evening, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  Harriet’s thoughts returned to the present. She smiled and nodded at the well-dressed couple as they drew level with her. The young woman was the daughter of the retired sea captain whose arm she was on and she was wearing one of Harriet’s dresses. “Good evening, Captain Chigwidden, Miss Chigwidden.”

  She watched them walk by, and admired how agreeably the tall captain in his dark blue suit and his much shorter daughter in the paisley patterned dress in a paler shade of blue complemented each other. Harriet watched the way the skirt moved as Miss Chigwidden walked. The cut was excellent. Harriet would have to remember to acknowledge her cutters and seamstresses again; perhaps an end-of-year bonus. They were doing fine work.

  What a long way she’d come from those early hawking days with Septimus when everything they owned was in their wagon. They had been happy days for her but they hadn’t lasted. Septimus had sought his fortune and his love elsewhere as it had turned out, but he had given her a fine son. Henry was the shining light in her life. She was also thankful for the contacts she’d made because of Septimus. She was often able to source exquisite fabrics and unusual prints through her direct links with importers Septimus had had business dealings with. A couple of less scrupulous fellows she was well aware but they gave her access to materials that that no-one else in Adelaide could source.

  With a self-satisfied feeling she turned, went back inside and swung the shop door shut. It stopped abruptly. She looked down to see a boot wedged at the bottom. A man’s hand slipped around the frame.

  Harriet gasped and pushed the door harder.

  “Mrs Wiltshire?”

  She paused at the sound of her name. The door opened wider to reveal a native. Well, he was part native from the pale-brown colour of his skin, the colour of toffee. She put a hand to her chest where she could feel her heart thumping.

  “What do you want?”

  “Only to speak with you, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “I cannot imagine there is anything we need to speak about.”

  He smiled at her and a shiver ran down her spine. His lips were turned up but the look he swept over her with his dark brown eyes was appraising.

  “We have something in common, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “I think not, Mr …?”

  “Aldridge, Jack Aldridge.” He took off his hat to reveal gleaming curly hair. He wore clothes that had seen better days but appeared clean and well-cared for. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Do I know your parents?”

  He chuckled. “My mother hardly at all I think, but my father very well as it turns out.”

  “Aldridge.” Harriet’s brow creased as she tried to recall the name. “Ned and Ethel Aldridge. I knew them both. I sold them the inn.”

  “Yes, but as you can tell by looking at me they are not my parents.”

  Harriet remained tight lipped. Nothing would have surprised her after discovering her own husband had taken a black mistress. Her eyes widened and she looked closely at the young man who blocked her door.

  Once more he smiled a malevolent smile. “Will you let me in, Mrs Wiltshire, or am I to declare on the street that I am your husband’s bastard son?”

  Harriet felt the blood drain from her face and her vision narrowed. She staggered back from the door. Aldridge pushed right into the shop and closed the door carefully behind him.

  He took her arm. “Can I get you a drink, Mrs Wiltshire? You look as if you’ve had a shock.” This time the smile reached his eyes. He was laughing at her.

  She drew herself up but she was still more than a head shorter than the man. “I am quite well, thank you Mr Aldridge.” Now that she had her breath back she had to give her
self time to think. What game did the fellow suppose he was playing at pretending a connection with Septimus?

  He kept his grip on her arm. “Now that we’ve been introduced, you should call me Jack, don’t you think, Harriet?” He began to steer her across the shop towards the door that led to the rooms beyond.

  Harriet’s head was spinning. Clearly he meant to do her some kind of harm. There was some slight chance someone might hear her cry out from the shop, none at all if he took her into the rooms at the back. She shook her arm from his grip and rounded on him.

  “Why are you here, Mr Aldridge? My husband has been dead for many years and I have been living in Adelaide ever since. I cannot see any possible reason for your visit.” She looked him up and down. “Unless you wish me to sew something for you.”

  He met her gaze and held it. His dark eyes smouldered and then he chuckled. “Well, I can see you’re a lady who has made her own way in the world without the need for a husband. Just as well then that you let the natives drag him off and kill him.”

  Once more Harriet’s strength left her. Who was this man who seemed to know so much about her? Then she realised. Her eyes opened wide. “You were one of the children.”

  “Jack Aldridge.” He inclined his head to her. “Although perhaps I should take the name Wiltshire now.”

  “Your mother …”

  “Is dead along with my little brother. We all caught a cold; I was the only one to survive it.”

  Harriet felt a brief pang of sadness for Dulcie, the woman who had helped Harriet bring her own son into the world. She looked at Jack and her compassion evaporated. There was too much at stake.

  “How can you be sure my husband is your father?”

  “I remember him. My mother may have known his name but she never used it in my presence. We only ever called him Papa. I was in Port Augusta some months back and I visited my other mother, Ethel Aldridge.” His eyes narrowed. “Ethel was able to tell me the name of the man who lived in the hills beyond her inn.”

  “Ethel?” Harriet’s thoughts were whirling in her head. “How would Ethel know?”

  “Evidently she and Ned were aware of your husband’s supposed secret family. They took my mother, brother and me in when he died.”

  Harriet was mortified. How many other people knew about Septimus’s indiscretions? And when it came to that, who else knew she had walked away when the natives took him?

  “You could have tried to save him, you know.” Jack stared into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts. “You had his firearm. A warning shot fired in the air would probably have frightened them off.”

  Harriet opened her mouth and closed it again. She felt suddenly cold, chilled to the bone.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Harriet. I’m sure a nice place like this must have a good kitchen. Take me there and I’ll make you a pot of tea. We have a lot more to discuss.”

  Harriet’s strength deserted her. There was nothing for it but to hear what Jack wanted although she already had a good idea of what that might be. Money. She turned and led the way through the workrooms, past her sitting room and into the kitchen, aware of the man walking closely behind her and taking in the details of her business and home.

  In her neat little kitchen she went straight to the fire. “Sit down, Jack.” She indicated one of the chairs at her small kitchen table. “I will make the tea.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any liquor?” He cast a look around the room.

  “I do not partake of strong drink. I can offer you tea or lemonade.”

  “Tea will do.” He sat in the chair on the side opposite the fire and watched her while she set the kettle to boil and prepared the tea.

  “You live alone? I thought a fine-looking woman like you might have taken another husband.”

  “Since my husband died I have never felt the need for male company. My business keeps me occupied.”

  “No children of your own?”

  Thankfully she had her back to him at that point. “Your father seemed to be busy elsewhere. Would you like a biscuit with your tea?”

  “I am rather hungry. I was hoping you would have more than a biscuit to offer.”

  Harriet inhaled deeply and crossed to her larder cupboard. She took out some bread and cheese and a pot of pickles.

  “I live very simply, Mr Aldridge. This is all I have to offer.”

  “It will do.” He hacked off a slice of the bread and a lump of cheese and started to eat.

  Harriet went back to the tea. She poured a cup for herself and a mug for him and sat down opposite him. He watched her while he took a mouthful of tea then he placed the mug back on the table and rested his clasped fingers beside it.

  “Now, Mr Aldridge.” Harriet felt stronger after a few sips of tea. “The purpose of your visit, if you please.”

  He smirked. “I’d have thought a smart business woman like you would have worked that out for yourself.” He leaned in. “In fact I think you already have, Harriet. You’ve done very well for yourself while I’ve lived a very basic life. I think my father would have wanted me to have an inheritance.”

  Harriet lifted her chin. “As it turns out you did. If you lived with Ethel and Ned as you say, you had a roof over your head courtesy of your father’s effort.”

  “And all I did was work while I lived there with never a penny in return. Anyway, that’s gone. It never did very well. Ned and Ethel took on a hotel in Port Augusta but I reckon they drank the profits. There’s little to show for it now.”

  “Hardly my fault, Mr Aldridge. My success has been due to my own hard work. Septimus left me very little when he died.”

  “Whether he did or he didn’t I’m not going to argue the point.” Jack glanced around the room. He would be taking in her fine china, the silver cutlery and elegant furnishings. Some of her possessions had come from Septimus over the years prior to his death but many she had purchased with money earned through her own efforts as a seamstress. His gaze came back to her. “You are obviously doing well for yourself, Harriet. The question is, what price are you prepared to pay for my silence?”

  “You seem to think I am a rich woman, Mr Aldridge. It costs me a lot of money to run this premises, import my stock, pay my staff, it leaves little left for me and I don’t keep a lot of cash here.”

  “I can take what you have for now and come back again for the rest.” His hand reached across the table in a sudden move and grabbed her wrist. He looked at the plain gold band on her finger. “Or I can take items in kind. I don’t mind. Cash would be better though.”

  She tugged her arm from his grip and reached for her locket. It was the only thing Septimus had given her that she truly treasured. She would have to withdraw some of her hard-earned cash to pay Septimus’s bastard for his silence. There was not only her reputation at stake but Henry’s. She had to protect her son. Jack had asked her about children. She hoped that meant he truly didn’t know of Henry’s existence.

  “Very well, Mr Aldridge. I have five pounds in the shop till. You can have that.”

  “Five pounds.” Jack leapt to his feet. “Then I’ll be cleaning out your fine silver and whatever else I can carry.”

  “Calm down,” Harriet snapped. “I am sure you don’t want the inconvenience of trying to sell my simple goods and chattels. I have a little more money in the bank. How much more do you want for your silence?”

  “One hundred pounds.”

  Harriet gasped. “I don’t have that much.”

  His look faltered and she knew her act had fooled him. “I can take out sixty pounds but that would clean me out except for what I need to pay my bills and wages.”

  “Do you think I care about that?” Jack came round and pulled her to her feet. “Very well. Get me your five pounds. That will do for now and I will be back this time tomorrow for the rest.”

  Eleven

  “Something’s not right, Joseph.”

  Joseph hovered at the end of their long dining table whi
le Clara paced the floor beside him. Sun streamed through the window but heavy clouds hung in brooding clumps on the horizon. He suspected they would get rain soon.

  Clara stopped her pacing and gripped the back of a chair. Her face was pale and lined with worry. She took long slow breaths.

  He moved to rub her back but she pushed his hand away and resumed her pacing. She had been upset about this new baby from the start but Joseph had witnessed the labouring process of his other four children and Clara was doing all the same things, if perhaps a little early.

  “You’re doing a good job, my love.” He tried to reassure her but she would have none of it.

  “I’m not,” she snapped then gasped and gripped her back. “The pain … is different … I can’t do it.”

  “Would you like me to get Jundala?”

  “No. I want to be left alone.”

  Joseph stayed where he was. There was no way he’d leave her alone. He watched as another pain gripped her.

  Clara let out a guttural cry. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. “It’s too soon,” she cried.

  “Only a couple of weeks.” They’d talked about a September baby arriving at the busiest time just before shearing. Now the baby was showing all the signs of being a late August arrival. Clara had paced the floor since the early hours of the morning. Once they had decided the baby was on its way he had asked Mary to take the children on an excursion to their favourite picnic spot.

  Once more Clara hunched over the chair and groaned.

  Joseph had helped many ewes deliver lambs but when it came to his wife and his child he felt useless. He took a cloth from the bowl of water on the table, squeezed it and went to his wife. He placed the cloth on her brow and she leaned against him.

  “I can’t do this any more, Joseph,” she murmured. “After this one, no more babies.”

  “I know you’re tired, my love, but the baby must be close. Lie down and take some rest while I get Jundala.” She let him lead her to the bedroom and help her on to the bed. No sooner had she laid down when another pain gripped her.