Daughter of the Murray Page 12

  He noted money changing hands, how far more went over the bar and into the pockets of the card dealers than went away with the customers. His shrewd gaze caught the barman throwing the slops back into a tray then pouring its contents into a large jug under the counter. He saw the women he presumed were employed at the hotel sift through the pockets of the drunks carefully and transfer the booty to a bucket under the bar.

  How not to operate my new premises.

  Dane ordered another rum, threw it back in one gulp and left.

  He walked towards the wharf thinking he could do much with a pub such as the Pastoral if it were his. He would make enquiries to see if it was available to purchase.

  His thoughts turned to the homestead. His homestead … his inheritance. Once full of promise, the land still rich even though drought had been and was coming again; all the old men talked of it. It would curtail growth for a few years. But if only I can—

  He couldn’t imagine what sort of problems had led his father to stoop to selling a young girl’s dresses for grog money. In hard times, Dane would have condoned the action if the money led to improving the family’s situation, and directly benefiting Georgina. But it hadn’t. And to sneak around in another town and tamper with the mail was far from moral.

  And all that aside from the business with Mary.

  It was hard to accept.

  Rupert’s letter indicated bank drafts had been made in favour of Georgina. Therefore, Tom as her guardian would have access to her money. How much money had been misappropriated over the years? Could Rupert have sent a small fortune? Perhaps he did. Tom had said five hundred was the amount he needed.

  Enormous amount of money. I should take it upon myself and write to Rupert. But to what end? More trouble, no doubt. Maybe even prison for Tom.

  Dane wandered to the wharf, stood and stared at the cranes as they lifted the swaying wool bales and crates of cargo from the paddle-steamers and the barges below to the holding squares. The boats lined up, first come, first served, and he could see six or seven vessels waiting to be unloaded. The place was alive, humming with the thrum of commerce and hard work, men shouting back and forth, cursing and praising as the cargo warranted. All boats crews were on hand, but the job on the dock was left to the workers there.

  He turned back towards the hotel, surprised to note that the afternoon sun was setting rapidly.

  Georgina! She could not be trusted to stay put for long and God knows what sort of tricks her mind would be playing now. His pace quickened.

  Eleven

  Georgie had read and re-read Papa Rupert’s letter, trying to understand all that had befallen her. It was too much to take in. He had been sending an allowance—which she had never lately received, not even indirectly. He had sent more dresses, which she had never seen. Where on earth had they gone?

  Sick and tired of the confusion, she threw the letter away from her and paced the small room, her hands clasping and unclasping. There seemed to be no answers, and the added complication of Dane MacHenry being too close only weighed on her further.

  She stopped in front of the door adjoining her room to Dane’s.

  She would not wait patiently for Dane to return. She was not about to be kept like an excess piece of baggage awaiting allocation to some dowdy corner of this part of the world. She turned her back on the door, grabbed her few belongings and marched to the main door. She pulled at the door knob but it stuck fast. Locked in! She marched back to the other door, and tested the knob before she yanked at it. The flimsy lock gave way and the door popped open.

  The other room was identical to the one she was in. Georgie strode over to the outer door, and with some trepidation this time, tested the lock. It clicked open and she poked her head outside.

  The squeaky hinges and groaning as the door scraped on the floorboards interrupted a couple at the end of the corridor—

  She gasped. That despicable, arrogant Dane MacHenry was at the end of the hallway, a woman all over him.

  Georgie pulled herself back inside the room and slammed the door as hard as she could. It cleared the bow in the floor without so much as a whisper, and the noise of it banging reverberated in her ears.

  He’s a useless, overgrown, gormless excuse for a horse’s arse! A cocksure show-off with his hands on that frumpish baggage’s fat backside.

  He thought to take himself off to dally with that thing at the end of the hall, did he? He must think her a naïve fool and easy prey. Perhaps he’d planned it that way all along, locking her in her room.

  Her stomach fluttered. Perhaps that woman was one of those women Josephine had talked about.

  Georgie had left Josephine behind in England years ago but her education was indeed enduring.

  She threw herself on the bed again, plopped back onto the meagre pillow, and closed her eyes before the ready tears threatened to spill.

  The things he would have done with that woman—she couldn’t imagine.

  For goodness’ sake, would he have had time to do whatever men do?

  She turned on her side and stared out the window at the sun on its afternoon descent. Her eyelids were heavy. Perhaps just a small nap to tide her over before she made any big decisions …

  Only a few minutes had passed, she was sure, but Georgie had a sense she should wake. Opening her eyes to weak sunlight in her room, she sat up quickly, but her head was foggy with the temptation to return to sleep.

  She swung her legs to the floor. Standing, stretching and needing water, she took a mug from the dresser and poured a drink. Then she took stock of her situation.

  She could not stay here.

  She eyed the crumpled dresses on the foot of the bed. They were her only possessions now. She wrapped them back into the sturdy parcel so they could be easily transported. She would head for the stables and take one of the horses. She would ride to her river. Sooner or later she would meet up with Conor Foley and life would be returned to an even keel.

  The bundle under her arm, she poked her head out the door and checked up and down the hall again. She stepped outside, closed the door quietly behind her and headed for the top of the stairs.

  Dane cut her off at the landing. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  Georgie made to sidestep him, but he blocked her and herded her back to their rooms. She was firmly ushered back inside, still clutching her new dresses.

  ‘Sit down a minute, Georgina.’ His face was grim. Georgie sat where he indicated, her parcel of dresses across her lap. ‘And please don’t speak until I ask you to.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up. ‘I should think you know enough not to wander about on your own. That’s one thing young ladies do not do—under any circumstances.’

  She opened her mouth again and this time he nodded at her to speak. ‘I could not possibly wait here one more minute for you to come back after seeing you with that—that—’

  ‘With that what?’

  Heat flamed her face. ‘That type of woman.’

  He looked bewildered. ‘What woman?’

  ‘At the end of the hall. Earlier.’

  He raised his brows. ‘And you know what type of woman she is.’

  ‘Not nearly as well as you, obviously,’ she snapped.

  He bent down and looked at her, digging his hands deep into his coat pockets. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard perfectly well.’

  He brought his hands up to rub his face, and sighed. ‘Georgina, your imagination is vivid, but your education is lacking.’ He straightened and pulled a chair over, turning it around to sit astride it.

  She took several deep breaths but the intensity of his gaze stopped a tirade. Instead, she gritted her teeth. ‘It’s not your business to educate me.’ The itchy heat crawled over her again and she scratched absentmindedly.

  ‘A whore is someone who sells her body for money.’

  ‘I know that!’ Georgie was aghast. ‘Oh my God—did you pay her?’

  ‘Sweet J
esus.’ He ran his hands through his thick, black hair. ‘What on earth do you think you saw?’

  ‘You—she—in the hallway, your hand on her … arse,’ she finished lamely, and stared at him accusingly.

  ‘I did not have my hands on her arse. You saw nothing.’

  Heat bloomed over her face. Of course it was nothing.

  He folded his arms on the back of the chair and leaned towards her. ‘When men go to women like her—’

  ‘How disgusting.’ She covered her ears. ‘I don’t want to know what you did.’

  ‘Not me, you fool. Others who might visit here might mistake ladies on their own in an establishment like this as having easy virtue.’

  Her head came up and her eyes connected with his. ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Are you just? It didn’t seem like it. You were about to la-de-dah down the stairs on your own. You’d be easy pickings for some unscrupulous—’

  ‘Stop!’ Georgie cried, shaking her head.

  ‘So, would you please—please—refrain from trying to traipse all over the countryside?’

  ‘You think I’m a naïve fool who needs a chaperone.’

  He nodded solemnly. ‘At present, yes, I do, and for the moment the chaperone job has fallen to me.’

  ‘I was not going to traipse all over the countryside.’ She was just going to charge down to the wharf and find Conor Foley. But she couldn’t tell Dane that—couldn’t tell him of Conor Foley.

  Her shoulders sagged. There was no way out. She glanced at him, glanced again as he straightened. He seemed to relax just a little.

  ‘Would you care to have some dinner if I can find a decent eating place somewhere?’

  Food. Yes, she needed food. She nodded. ‘I think I would.’

  He stood up and returned the chair to its place by the wall. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go. But you’ll have to put your parcel down, there’s no need to walk around town with it tucked under your arm.’

  He waited patiently until she sorted the dresses on a hook on the back of the door, until she checked the little mirror for any hair that had strayed out of her plait, and pinched her cheeks. Then she allowed him to open the door and lead her out.

  They ate in relative silence in a small restaurant close to the hotel. She was hungry, but the meal was chewy stew with unappetising vegetables. She glanced at Dane only to catch him doing the same to her. She burned anew, heat curling up from her toes and stopping—curiously—in her belly. There it churned and fluttered, and seemed to have a will of its own. She longed to be on her own, sorting out her unruly emotions.

  Georgie stared at his hands on the knife and fork, the broad fingernails, the strong fingers with a smattering of dark hair on each knuckle, the way the veins on the backs of his hands were raised. She watched his fingers grab a piece of bread and swipe some gravy with it. His hands were tanned, they would be warm …

  They returned to the hotel before the cool of night descended. He walked her to the room they occupied and opened the door. He bade Georgie enter before him, said goodnight and left her standing in the middle of the room, in the fading light. He locked her door from the outside.

  A moment later and she heard the door to his room open. His footfalls stopped and then squeaking bed springs sounded. She imagined the next two thuds were his boots coming off, and then there was silence.

  Georgie sighed and sat heavily on her bed, unnerved, frustrated and lonely. She thought she was worldly. She thought she knew the things she had to know to keep her alive in this world. But the world around her was a good deal harsher than she had been aware.

  She threw herself back on the bed fully clothed, exhausted.

  Dane wearied of the day and was ready for sleep. He pulled off his boots, stripped down to nothing and climbed between the musty sheets. His thoughts once again turned to Georgina, who slept in the room next to his.

  He was not equipped to deal with a beautiful young girl who had little understanding of the wider world. Her confidence and natural grace belied her lack of experience. The threat to which she’d almost been exposed as she’d attempted once again to run had sobered him.

  He would have to become equipped to deal with her. She was in his charge now whether she—or he—liked it or not. And not only that—he wanted her for himself. He wanted her spark and her fire in his life, he wanted her lively mind and her courage. How would he protect her, then, from what he wanted?

  He closed his eyes a moment and pictured her slim body under his. He stirred uncomfortably. He wouldn’t visit her again tonight. She would be his, though, of that he was certain, perhaps when she was more accustomed to living in the world he knew. Until then, he would have to find her a female companion, someone he could trust.

  His thoughts turned to Angeline, Reuben’s mother. She would take to Georgina like a hen over her chicks. Or there was Reuben’s wife, Amelia … perhaps not, with youngsters of her own to take her time and attention. No, he would approach Angeline. If he sent her to Melbourne to live with Angeline and John, there would be no impropriety. He would visit her in his foster parents’ home and there he would woo her.

  He stretched his naked body. A loud sigh from the room next door reached his ears. He smiled and slept as comfortably as he could.

  Twelve

  The bright light of early morning woke him. He pulled on breeches and a shirt and left the room to ask for hot water to be sent up, thinking once again about the luxury of an indoors bathing room. He would definitely look into it for his tavern, as soon as he reached Sydney again. If ever I do reach Sydney again.

  A young boy brought a bowl of steaming water. He took it, set it on the small dresser and began to soap his face for shaving.

  Fifteen minutes later, clean and refreshed, he knocked on the adjoining door. When Georgina’s muffled reply reached him, he said loudly, ‘I’ve ordered some hot water for you. We’ll go down and find some breakfast in thirty minutes.’ He waited for her answer, a sleepy muttering, and finished dressing.

  He’d woken with a clear thought that it would be better if they rode to Melbourne, after all, as opposed to taking the train. He reasoned that, although the horses would tire, they could stop and start as they pleased. He wondered idly if she’d be up to it, then checked himself. There was no doubt she would, she’d proven her excellent horsemanship.

  Minutes later he heard a knock at her door and a woman calling, ‘Miss?’ Georgina answered and thanked the woman.

  He waited a little time, impatiently checking his bags and pacing the room then, fed up, knocked again on the adjoining door.

  When she answered, her freshly washed face, neatly combed and tied hair—fragranced with a light scent of roses that lingered in the air around him—took his breath.

  ‘Morning,’ he rasped, gazing at her.

  ‘Good morning.’ She briefly met his eyes.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, gathered her bundle of clothes, neatly back in their package, and her bag, and followed him closely downstairs. She was dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before.

  He bought some freshly baked bread from the hotel kitchen, apples and a lump of beef jerky. It would have to do until he could find something more appetising, but it was early morning and the chances of any stores being open were slim. They trekked outside and around the back to the stables. The stablehand greeted them as if they were his long-lost friends.

  Georgina eyed him warily. ‘You said train.’

  He shrugged. ‘Now it’s the horses.’

  She asked for her saddle rather than the sidesaddle he ordered on Douglas for her. He took one look at her dress and shook his head. ‘You never know who’s going to be out in this country.’ He finished saddling MacNamara and attached all her belongings to him. Georgina glumly eyed the sidesaddle.

  Strapping the girth in place, Dane opened the saddlebags and rummaged for his map. He sat on a sawn-off lump of tree trunk outside MacNamara’s stall and concentrated on the route south
, calculating how many hours between stops, where to stop and where to buy food and drink.

  He asked where he could fill his water flasks and the stable lad pointed a finger at a well.

  As Dane pumped water, the boy helped Georgina into her saddle. ‘You better be careful,’ he warned, frowning as though to give depth to his advice.

  He finished with the bottles, and turned to see the look of concern on Georgina’s face. He gazed at her, trying to convey calm—the stable boy’s warning caused him no concern—then tied the water bottles to MacNamara’s saddle, mounted and left the stable. He nodded his thanks at the boy and tossed him a coin.

  After they rode a little way out of town, Georgina following him, Dane indicated they should pull off the road.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as he beckoned her to dismount. He pulled clothes from the bag tied to his saddle.

  ‘Here.’ He threw them over to her. ‘I’ve changed my mind. It might be a good idea if you wore these after all.’ As she grabbed the garments out of the air, he began to remove the sidesaddle from Douglas.

  It was her old shirt and breeches, cleaned and patched. Mrs Rossmoyne must have fixed them. She gaped delightedly at him then glanced around, spotted a dense clump of bush and darted behind it. She emerged from the bush and packed her dress into the saddlebags on Douglas, who now bore her usual saddle. She grinned widely at him.

  Dane had already remounted, eager to continue the ride. He’d removed his waistcoat and handed it to her. ‘Wear this, too,’ he ordered.

  ‘I don’t need it.’ She swung onto Douglas’s back.

  ‘I say you do,’ he replied. ‘And do it up, all the way to your neck.’

  She complied and then he turned MacNamara back to the road and galloped off.

  Not two miles gone, they saw the riders in the distance. Dane slowed them up, their pace dropping to a canter.

  He wheeled MacNamara around. ‘If they’re who I think they are, you’d better make a run for it back to Echuca.’