A Greater World (13 page)

As if gaining courage from her admission, Will swallowed hard and spoke. 'Lizbeth, why did you marry my Pa? You're a beautiful woman and he's a miserable old sod. It doesn't seem right to me. And this place isn't going to be much fun for someone like you. It's ten miles into town and when you get there there's nothing much there anyway. Why'd you marry him?'

'Don't ask me that, Will. It isn't right to speak of your father that way. I'm sure he's a good man really.'

'He's not. He's a miserable bastard. Soon as I save enough money I'm out of here too. In the meantime I keep out of his way, like Hattie does. I'm not as daft as Nat – better to keep my distance and avoid provoking him.' He threw another pebble into the fire. 'I reckon he left Hattie in town because he's hoping Miss Radley will turn her into a lady and he can marry her off to some rich fellow and get her off his hands. He certainly isn't educating her for her own good.'

Elizabeth sighed, acknowledging the probable truth of what the boy was saying. 'When do I get to meet Hattie?'

The boy shrugged. 'Who knows? She never comes out here – hasn't set foot in the place since they carried Ma out in her coffin. You could ask Pa if you want to meet her – but I can't see as he's likely to see the point.'

'Don't you see her?'

'I bump into her in in town sometimes. We don't have much to say to each other. I don't feel I know her any more. She used to be a bit of a wild child, always climbing trees and riding her pony. But she's a proper little lady now – with her nose in the air. She pretends she's not related to me and Pa. Can't say as I can blame her.'

'How sad. Were you close to her when your mother was alive?

He nodded. 'Me and Hat are just a year apart and we were scared of Nat and Pa so we stuck together. It's different now. Ma dying changed everything.'

She leaned over and pressed his hand. During the short silence that followed, Elizabeth leaned back and looked up at the night sky, seeing again that it was a different sky from the one she knew so well in England. The night was cloud-free and the strange constellations of stars were bright and clear.

'The stars are completely different from those at home.'

'Fair dinkum? you have a different sky in England? I love the stars; Ma taught me the names of some of them. There's the Southern Cross.' He pointed to the sky. 'See those bright stars one above the other - they're beta Centauri and alpha Centauri. If you look above them and to the left that's the Southern Cross.'

'We have the Plough and Orion back home. They were the only ones I ever knew. To be honest I didn't spend much time looking at them. I've never done anything like this before: eating a meal under the stars. I used to spend my evenings indoors – at concerts and parties or at home. Although I did love walking in the hills and on the beach in the daytime.' She sighed.

'What made you come to Australia, Lizbeth? It's going to be a very different life for you. I don't know if you realise that? Life here's pretty hard for a man, let alone for a woman and one brought up with city ways.'

'I didn't get along with my sister and I wanted to see some more of the world. I just hadn't banked on my father dying.'

The boy nodded.

'Tell me about the town, Will. Is it a big place?'

'Big enough and growing fast. People used to come and prospect for gold, but not these days. The gold's gone. There's coal and kerosene and stuff. Tourists come up here from the city because the air's fresh and the scenery's nice. It's popular for honeymoons. There's a fancy hotel and lots of guest houses and a few shops. And it's right on the edge of the canyon rim so there's pretty views across the valley. Cliffs and waterfalls and stuff like that. It's a good place I suppose. Oh and there's a railway too.

'A railway? Up here?'

'Yes. Built by the Chinamen. They'd run out of convicts by then to do the hard work!' He laughed. 'It was convicts built the road from Sydney. I hope Pa lets you come into town with me some time. I think you'll like it there. A bit more for a lady to do and look at than there is out here.'

'What does your father do when he goes into town?'

'I don't really know about that. It's to do with the mine I think, but he doesn't tell me anything about that side of things. He just wants me to work here.'

'Does he visit Hattie?'

'If he does he never tells me about it. But he never tells me anything.' He gave a dry laugh. 'He got into the mining when Ma died. Everything changed then. Before that he used to talk a bit. Since Ma went it's just silence and cusses. This place was always pretty simple but at least it was like a home and not run-down. We never had much money but Ma was a good housekeeper and made the best of things and Pa made sure that she got what she needed. We had flowers in pots on the veranda and curtains at the windows. There was never much space but we managed. Since she died it's gone to hell – until today that is! You've worked a miracle.'

'If your father has mining interests he must be quite a wealthy man?'

'They say he's worth a fortune, but if that's so I've never seen a penny of it. I've no idea what he does with his money. He lives like he's not got a brass razoo. He spends most of his time in town, but I reckon he prefers it out here to whatever he does there. This is what he grew up with. I reckon, no matter how rich he could be, he'd still rather be sitting in the scrub, boiling up his billycan.'

Elizabeth smiled, then suddenly felt overcome with tiredness after her efforts of the afternoon. 'It's time I turned in for the night, Will.'

'Me too. I have to ride into town tomorrow to get that cleaning stuff for you.'

'Thanks, Will and goodnight.'

'Goodnight, Lizbeth. I'm glad you've come – at least for my sake I'm glad. But it's a shame for you.'

'Don't worry about me. I'm fine.' She leaned towards him and grazed his brow with her lips, then turned and went into the house. Will walked towards the little shack where he spent his nights, the deep flush on his face hidden by the darkness.

Chapter Nine – A New Home

As soon as he climbed down from the wagon at the Black Water Colliery, Michael knew he'd made a mistake. The mine had an air of neglect that didn't square with the tales of untold wealth Fred Burton had spun in the bar. His instincts told him that no one was making a quick buck here. After years working at Berrywake Crag, he could sniff a diminishing mineral seam in the air. He saw resignation in the faces of the miners as they queued for the lift to take them underground. He saw it in the faces of the wives sitting outside their hastily put-together homes made from bits of bush timber and hammered-out kerosene cans. And he could see it in the scrawny bodies and tattered clothes of their children playing a half-hearted game of tag.

He turned accusingly to Fred Burton, who avoided his eyes and shrugged in apology.

'Look, mate. It's a job isn't it? These days any job's hard to come by. It'll pick up soon. This place will be boomtown again before we know it. You can always get digs in town if you don't mind the walk. Mind you, you're probably better off bunking out here when the weather's bad, mate.'

So here he was, nothing had changed. He'd substituted the long walk down the dale from Hunter's Down to the pit at Berrywake Crag for a long trek through the bush from some miserable town to the Black Water Colliery. And he was going to be smashing up rocks for the rest of his life. If Minnie Hawthorn could see him now she'd be saying I told you so.

To make matters worse, it started drizzling: the kind of deceptively fine rain that soaks as thoroughly as a dip in the ocean. Michael pulled his cap down, turned his collar up and looked for shelter. There was none.

A fat man with a paunch and a badly fitting waistcoat came out of the site office, brandishing a clipboard and pencil. Telling the new men to line up in front of him, he squashed into a chair, protected from the rain by both the overhang of the office roof and a large umbrella. Michael disliked him on sight.

When it was Michael's turn to step forward, the man asked his name, age and marital status, then assigned him a number.

'Don't forget it or you won't get paid. You're on second shift. Start at 11 in the morning and finish at 7. Twenty minute break to eat your tucker. We don't like slackers round here so any sign of that and you're out on your arse, pom.'

He looked Michael up and down, lip curled, then cocked his head towards the mineshaft. 'Over there. See the shift manager. Tell him what you can do and he'll assign your work.'

He was detailed to go down in the cage with the next load of men, to work a side tunnel off the main seam. There were half a dozen men, a couple of whom had travelled up on the wagon from Sydney, and Michael had established an easy camaraderie with them, taking the inevitable jokes about his pommie provenance in good part. There wasn't much chance for levity down the pit though. The work was unrelenting, physically tiring, and the noise of the machinery prevented anything other than short, shouted instructions. The men knew what was expected of them and got on with wielding their pick axes and smashing the rock into smaller more manageable pieces that could be loaded into bags and dragged back up the shaft.

At the end of the shift, one of the lads offered to walk into town with him and introduce him to a landlady who could provide digs at a reasonable rate and was said to be a good cook. Anything had to be better than living out here in what was a glorified squatters' camp.

It was two days before Jack Kidd returned. He entered the shack without greeting and slung his bags on the floor. He made no comment on the transformation.

'Where's the lad?'

'Will's been working all day. Fishing and chopping wood I think. Supper will be ready in an hour.' She wiped her wet hands on a cloth and turned to him, ready to ask why he had neglected to mention his children, but he'd already left the room. Life as Mrs Jack Kidd was not going to stretch her conversational skills. Yet it was preferable to having to play the role of attentive wife. As long as she put food on his table and kept out of his way, it seemed that Kidd would expect little of her. But she would be expected to share the narrow bed with him: an uninviting prospect.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of her husband with Will close behind him.

'G'day Lizbeth.' The boy's voice was cheery, but he'd barely got the words out when Kidd cut in.

'Don't speak to her that way, boy. Show some respect.'

'I asked him to call me Elizabeth, Mr Kidd.'

'You keep your mouth shut.'

He pulled off his dusty boots and kicked them under the bed. Undoing his shirt he scratched his scrawny ribcage and slumped into the chair.

'Bring me a beer, woman.'

'There is no beer.'

'In my saddlebag. Put away the rest of the stuff while you're at it.'

She went to pick up the bags that lay by the door, but Will got there first. He handed her the beer and assorted tins and supplies and she put them away on the makeshift shelf.

The evening passed slowly and in silence. As soon as they finished the meal, Will excused himself and went off to his quarters in the shed. Kidd continued to drink his beer, leaning back in the chair, staring at the rafters. She guessed these were not the only beers he had consumed that day and hoped the drink would lull him to sleep in the chair so she could enjoy another night alone in the bed. When she thought he had drifted off, she dimmed the lamp, crossed to the back of the room beside the bed and began to undress. Tomorrow she would ask Will to make her the frame for a screen. She could cover it with calico – she'd found a small stash in the bottom of the chest.

Fumbling for her nightgown, she realised Kidd was awake and watching her. She pulled the gown in front of her and sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to cover herself.

'Stand up.'

She froze.

'Stand up. I want to look at you.'

Still she sat, clutching the nightgown across her breasts.

'I won't ask you again, woman. Stand up.' His voice held a quiet threat.

Holding the nightdress in front of her body, she rose from the edge of the bed.

'Put that down.' Then, when she continued to stand trembling behind her gown, 'Do as I say. Put it down.'

She laid the garment beside her on the bed and turned away from him.

'Turn around.'

She turned to face him, her hands automatically reaching in front to cover herself.

'Put your hands down. Now come over here.'

Her heart pounding, she crossed the room towards him.

'Closer.'

She stood in front of his chair, shivering, although the evening was mild. The lamp was dim, the wick burnt low. She felt ashamed standing there before him, exposed to his gaze. He didn't look at her eyes but focused on her body, slowly surveying every curve, from her breasts to her now slightly swollen abdomen. She turned her head away, feeling the blood burn in her face, longing to grab her clothes and escape from his scrutiny.

He leaned forward and put his hand on her belly. His palm was hard and rough, but warm against her skin and she flinched slightly at his touch. He stretched his hand out, flat against her skin and began to stroke her stomach with a circular motion. She tried to lean away but he placed his other hand on the small of her back and held her in position.

She closed her eyes and prayed for it to be over quickly, hoping he would be as fast in taking his pleasure as he had been when he rolled on top of her on their wedding night. But tonight Kidd was taking his time. He continued to massage her stomach with slow, gentle movements. His hand wandered up her belly and began to caress her breasts. She gave a long, involuntary shudder and began to breathe deeper, shorter and faster. Her breasts, swollen in response to the child inside her, ached as he touched them. Again she tried to pull away, but the hand pinioning her back held her in place. The other hand now moved back down her stomach, with slow circling movements that were beginning to arouse her. He rose from the chair and steered her back to the bed, still stroking her. She was gasping now. Ashamed that she was unable to control her own body, she tried to fight the warm and tingling sensation that was spreading through her and rolling in waves towards the wet area between her legs. He pushed her back onto the bed and slipped his fingers inside her and she cried out and arched her back. He was kneeling over her now, knees planted each side of her as he continued to work on her, and she felt her body respond to his fingers. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her. He pulled back from her and undid his belt.

'So you're carrying another man's child? Behaving like the Virgin Mary when all the time you've a little bastard growing in your belly.' His voice was low and, despite the words, seemed to bear no trace of anger.

Elizabeth felt a chill pass over her. 'How did you know?'

'I know the sign of a pregnant belly. I've fathered enough children to know that. Did you think you could trick me into believing it was mine?' As he spoke, he jerked his trousers off and positioned himself with her between his knees, pinning her shoulders against the bed as she tried to struggle upright. With a grunt he thrust himself inside her. This time her body responded as he entered her and she started to moan softly. He thrust slowly, holding his upper body away from her with his arms, which were planted either side of hers.

He spoke as he pushed into her. 'I don't care who fathered the bastard. As long as you keep it out of my way.'

She started to sob. 'I'm sorry. I don't want it. It was forced on me. I wish I were dead.'

Kidd ignored her and continued to pump away. 'You like this? Does it feel good? Bit of a whore aren't you?'

Elizabeth cried out as she reached her climax, then whispered, 'I'm not a whore.'

'Oh no?' He made a last thrust then rolled off her onto his back. 'Then how come you moan like one? And take your pleasure like one? And your bastard child can't have been an immaculate conception. My wife was a lady and I treated her like a lady. You're no better than the floozies at the flophouse up in town. But get one thing straight – your days of putting yourself about are done. You may be a whore but you're my whore, for the exclusive use of Jack Kidd.' He closed his eyes, put his hands behind his head and let out a loud beery belch.

Elizabeth rolled over and turned her face to the wall. She felt humiliated and ashamed and angry with her body for betraying her. Her eyes swam with tears. It would have been better to have experienced pain than pleasure, when its source was a person who filled her with disgust, who repelled her and who showed her nothing but contempt. She couldn't bear to look at him. Yet the feel of his calloused hands on her naked skin had aroused her. She had been unable to fight or resist it. Her body had taken over, had given itself up to the sensations that his slow, calculated caresses had provoked. Was she no better than a whore? Was the fact that she had been unable to control the response of her body proof that he was right? She thought about what he said of his late wife. Women were supposed not to take pleasure in such things. Her knowledge of such matters was limited. Her mother had never spoken of them. She thought of her sister. Sarah had produced two children with a third on the way. It was hard to believe after Elizabeth's own experience, that her sister actually took pleasure in her relations with Dawson, yet from her manner she could only surmise that she must do. She was puzzled. Her first experience had been violent and painful. The first time with Kidd had been hurried, ugly and undignified. Tonight she was embarrassed to her core, angry with her own body, fearful, yet unable to deny that she had found it strangely pleasurable.

Kidd's stentorian snoring filled the room as she lay beside him, trying to keep a gap between their bodies. Her nightgown lay in a heap across the floor out of reach. She pulled the sheet higher and leaned into the wall.

Unable to sleep, her thoughts turned to Michael Winterbourne. She gave a shudder of pleasure as she imagined making love with him, feeling his arms around her, burying her head in his chest, looking into his eyes as he moved inside her, feeling again his lips upon hers. She stiffened and cringed that she had allowed herself to take pleasure from the touch of the man who lay beside her. Her love was and could only ever be for one man. A man she had met for so short a time, it was hard to believe she could love him. But she did. She really did – and she knew now it was a love that would last as long as she lived; a source of strength, even though it could never be returned.

She could not help smiling to herself in the dark as she thought again of Michael. His image was burned on her brain and she would never let it fade. It was better that she had met him so briefly and fallen in love, than that she had never had the chance to experience this feeling at all.

But tonight she had betrayed Michael by taking pleasure at her husband's touch. She stared up through the dark at the ceiling, where she could make out the ripples of corrugated iron in varying shades of darkness. Kidd stirred and turned over. The snoring stopped for a few moments then started up again.

If she had to live without the man she loved and must share the bed of a man she loathed, then why not take what pleasure she could from him? As his wife, she could not deny him her body, so was it not better that she should get some satisfaction from it? Compared with the violence Dawson had subjected her to, and the quick penetration of her wedding night, some physical pleasure from Kidd's touch was not such a bad bargain.