Daughter of the Murray Page 6

  She remembered the packages in Douglas’s saddle. Reaching into the saddlebags, she retrieved the bundle of papers she’d peered at the night before. She untied the soft leather-bound compendium embossed with ‘D MacH’, and lifted the parcel into the light. It was addressed to a firm of solicitors in Melbourne. She turned it over—

  Georgie stopped then. There was some chance Dane would come back into possession of these papers and it would not be proper for her to have deliberately broken into his private business.

  The saddlebags also held a small pouch with medicinal ointments and oils in it, a needle and some thread, a tin of pills she didn’t recognise, some matches and a bandage. She stuffed it all back.

  The small gentleman’s wallet, made of the same fine material as the compendium, was beautiful. She let her fingers glide over the leather, cool to her touch. She lifted it to her face and breathed deeply.

  Inside, among some pennies, which she added to her stash, and notes referring to a ‘Captain’s Cabin’, she found the most exquisite photograph of a beautiful woman, a small cartes wrapped in a protective card, tucked deep into an almost invisible sleeve. It looked worn, but its subject’s loveliness did not. For some reason, Georgie’s heart skipped a beat.

  She stared at the picture for a long time and turned it over. On seeing the handwritten message on the back, her face burned.

  To my darling Dane on his birthday, My love forever, Rebecca.

  Georgie pushed the picture back into the wallet. Did that horrible creature have a wife?

  Remembering what Josephine had told her about the act between husband and wife, she shuddered. She wondered if Dane and this Rebecca had engaged in such a base act. A strange little thrill stabbed her deep within. Hardly attractive behaviour, she decided, though her face grew hot.

  I would be well rid of all of this.

  Georgie thought of her own intention to marry Conor Foley. Josephine had said this husband-and-wife act was the only thing you could do to get babies. She had scoffed. ‘I don’t want babies,’ she declared.

  She remembered Josephine said men hankered after this thing from women, married or not, because it was immensely enjoyable to them. Georgie couldn’t imagine Conor ‘hankering’ after such a sordid act. He had never suggested it to her in any fashion.

  It would not be something we would do, she decided.

  She kicked MacNamara into a light canter and headed back to the main road. When she finally caught a glimpse of the river through the trees, she turned MacNamara for the water, but he needed no prompting. He’d have been able to smell it for miles.

  She dismounted at a cleared spot at the water’s edge. She squatted and scooped handfuls of the cool, clean water to her mouth. So intent was she on quenching her thirst and trying to clean her face and neck of grime, she barely registered the chug-chug of a paddle-steamer coming around the bend in the river.

  The loud horn sounded so close her heart leapt in her throat. She would have fallen right in if she hadn’t still had hold of the horses.

  It was a beautiful boat. Georgie waved at the man in the steering cabin, and he waved back. A couple of men had appeared on the deck, one darting back out of view, the other standing to stare at her. He shouted something to her from the deck and she shrugged and spread her arms, indicating she couldn’t hear him. The engines dropped away slightly, and the helmsman steered a little towards the bank.

  The man on board shouted again, ‘Where are you headed?’

  She shouted back, ‘To Swan Hill—how far is it?’

  There was some discussion with another person Georgie couldn’t see and then the voice floated over to her: ‘About two hours. We’ll beat you there.’

  Georgie gave him a wave. She could see his and two other faces staring at her from the cabin, but she was sure it was no more than natural curiosity. She wouldn’t be far behind the paddle-steamer into Swan Hill, but she wasn’t going to push MacNamara to prove a point. As long she could eat and drink something, and freshen him up, she could take her time. Douglas was still reasonably fresh.

  The paddle-steamer swung gently back to the middle of the river. She watched as it glided away. She recognised it, read its name on the stern to confirm it was one of the loveliest boats on the river, the Gem, its captain and crew very experienced. Just before she mounted, she took another look at the boat and saw a crewman staring at her from within the shadows of the steering cabin. He lingered for a moment, then ducked out of sight. She dismissed him from her thoughts.

  Georgie pulled MacNamara and Douglas from the banks of the river, glad she would be safe in Swan Hill in a few short hours.

  Six

  Dane waited patiently for her to appear in town. A good vantage point meant he could see clearly down the street in the direction she would come. There’d be enough time to duck out of sight.

  He would soon have his horses, his money and his belongings. And her. He would certainly make her regret running away from the homestead. For a start, she would write an apology to his parents for all their inconvenience.

  A thought struck him—if he was going to Melbourne with Georgina, then perhaps Angeline would take her in and find her a suitable position. Why had he not thought of that before now? Of course! It fit well, he would just have to plead the case to Angeline, considering he wouldn’t have time to appraise her of the situation beforehand.

  But perhaps it would be too much to ask of his foster family. He shrugged. He would reassess the situation when he got hold of the wayward girl.

  He didn’t have to wait long. In Georgina rode on his horse MacNamara, with old faithful Douglas in tow. He wondered how she thought she would reach her destination, wherever that was—coach or train or paddle-steamer?

  Georgina dismounted at the blacksmith’s shop.

  He could clearly see her figure, very obviously female in boys’ clothing. Her thick, dark hair had been tucked up into a hat, but there was no mistaking the sway of her hips and the swing of her gait. The proud bosom was hidden, but he was aware of it. He had been thinking the same when he’d spotted her on the banks of the river from the paddle-steamer.

  She disappeared into the smithy’s shop, carrying a light cloth bag. He squinted, and saw his bags were still attached to Douglas’s saddle. She remained inside for a good length of time then emerged with the smithy, who directed her to what Dane guessed would be stables for the horses.

  He was right. She mounted MacNamara, clearly confident in the saddle. He couldn’t help but admire her as a capable horsewoman. Her hat slipped back and sunlight flashed off the shimmer of her hair. How could he possibly miss anything about her? He blinked at the thought, watching her replace the hat.

  She turned up the street with Douglas in tow. The smithy watched her as she left. With a slight shake of his head, he retreated into his dark shop.

  Dane covered the few hundred yards behind her at an easy pace. Outside the two-stall stable that was just on the edge of town, he overheard Georgina talking to a man.

  ‘I can pay you to keep him here, but I’d pay more if you could find someone to take him back up to Jacaranda,’ she was saying.

  Dane took no notice of what the man said. Instead, he stepped into the shed. The man had seen him and Georgina turned to look at the newcomer.

  Dane moved quickly, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. He flashed a grin at the man before speaking to her. ‘There you are, my dear. No need to arrange for Douglas to be returned, we’ll carry on with him from here.’

  Georgina looked thunderstruck. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face and her breath seemed somewhat laboured.

  Dane nodded at the stableman. ‘Thank you for your time, anyway.’

  ‘Right y’are, then.’ The man turned back to a stall and slammed the door shut.

  Dane grabbed hold of both horses’ reins with one hand and Georgina with the other, then hustled her out of the stables.

  She resisted enough to drag her feet, clutching her cloth bag clos
e. ‘At least let me explain—’

  ‘In a minute, young lady. Let’s make our way along the river before we have a little chat.’

  ‘Would you please let me walk without your assistance?’ She tried to free herself, but his grip remained firm. ‘I can explain every—’

  ‘And so you will. Until then, my grip neither relaxes on your arm nor on my horses. And if you try any nonsense, I will throw you over the saddle and tie you, face down, to it. Is that clear?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  They walked in silence until she huffed and tried to shake him off again. ‘You don’t have to hold so hard. Your hand is making me numb. It’ll bruise my arm.’

  Dane marched on.

  He slowed up once on the banks of the River Murray and gave her a little push. Her hat fell off and she scrambled for it, stumbled and landed on her arse. She sat where she’d fallen. He paid little attention while he secured the horses close to the water where they immediately began to eat what they could find, and then to drink.

  Looking at her, the downturn of her mouth, the worried frown wrinkling her forehead, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, he couldn’t hold his temper. He flung his arms in the air. ‘What in God’s name made you do it?’

  Her features puckered and as suddenly as he had bellowed, the tears popped and fell down her face.

  Those tears grabbed his heartstrings. He baulked and momentarily softened. Her nose began to run and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. He glowered, dug into his trouser pocket and thrust a handkerchief at her. ‘I don’t suppose you thought to steal one of these.’

  She took it, unfolded it with a flick of her wrist and trumpeted into it.

  He sat on the ground nearby, his arms on his bent knees. ‘Tell me.’

  She gulped in air, wiped her nose back and forth.

  Dane rubbed his face with his hands. ‘For God’s sake, you bloody fool. You stole one horse, left me for dead on the road, stole my other horse and my possessions, which I note you were about to use for yourself, and here you are snivelling as if I had done you some injustice.’ He scratched his head, wincing as he found the bump.

  He couldn’t ignore the movement under her shirt, or the thick hair as it fell about her shoulders. He couldn’t ignore the shape of her legs in the pair of his, he now realised, old breeches, nor the feet clad in a shapely pair of boots, laced from ankles to calves.

  She snivelled and blew again.

  ‘That crying business is going to get you nowhere. Now, no nonsense. What were you going to do?’

  Georgina shook her head.

  He stood and stalked over to Douglas and pulled the saddlebags from him. ‘Well?’ he called over his shoulder.

  She swallowed, her face pinching as she did, and remained silent.

  Throwing the bags at her feet, he stood beside her again. ‘I can play your little game for only so long before I hand you over to the police as a thief.’

  She gaped at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Finally, she speaks. Cooperation may save you a gaol term. Or worse than gaol. I believe that in some places stealing a horse is a capital offence, and you’ve stolen two—and my possessions.’

  She shook her head, held her hands up as if to ward something off. ‘I did not want to be sent away to God knows where, at the mercy of who knows what.’ She hiccupped. ‘I’ve been sent away before … ’

  ‘So, you took yourself off. Where did you think you were going?’

  She blinked swollen and malevolent eyes. ‘None of your business.’ Her voice jerked in her throat. She rubbed at her arm where he’d held it.

  He ignored that. ‘For a start, have you any idea what sort of worry your disappearance will cause my mother? Someone who took you in and treated you like a daughter.’

  There was no response. She had the good sense to stare at the ground, experiencing some guilt, he hoped.

  ‘They fed and clothed you and are now broke apparently because of your damned drunken stepfather and all his debts.’

  ‘Drunken?’ She snapped a glare at him. ‘My father? Did you take a look at your own?’

  Dane ploughed on. ‘My dear Uncle Rupert in and out of debtor’s prison.’

  She staggered to her feet, swiping a hand at her dribbling nose and rebellious eyes. She huffed and puffed, and gulped once or twice. She wobbled a little, then shouted, ‘What utter bollocks!’ Her voice broke. ‘He doesn’t owe your family a debt. It’s exactly the—’

  ‘Bollocks, is it? You have the mouth of a guttersnipe and you’re calling my father a liar.’

  ‘He is if he’s told you that! Where’s your proof? Where’s his proof?’

  He stared her down. Indeed. Where’s his proof? He’d asked to see the books and his father had fobbed him off. He’d fobbed him off about talking to Jemimah too: ‘Not a word to your mother.’

  He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking hard. Have I been a gullible bloody idiot? Could this girl be right? He squinted at her, shaking off the niggling doubt. She could still be fooling him. ‘Were you sending Rupert money too?’

  Her mouth dropped open again. ‘I’d no money to send—Rupert would send your father money to support me … I have letters he wrote and—and—’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They are at Jacaranda.’

  ‘How convenient.’ He stepped closer to her.

  She stood her ground. ‘You clearly don’t have the God-given intelligence—’

  ‘Now, be careful with your tongue.’

  ‘Careful with—?’ She pulled herself upright. ‘You are so dim-witted,’ she said, sniffing, her teeth bared, ‘I’ll wager you wouldn’t know your quims from your strumpets!’

  ‘What?’ He snaked out an arm, grabbed her shirtfront and hauled her off her feet.

  She squawked. ‘I said—’

  ‘I heard what you said. Not another word from that gutter mouth.’ He gripped her by the collar and half dragged, half carried her down to the river, then grabbed the seat of her pants, lifted her off her feet and dunked her head and shoulders into the water. ‘Most unladylike.’ His teeth clenched as he hauled her back up.

  Georgina sputtered, attempting to draw breath. Muddy water streaked her face and clothes.

  He let her drop to the sandy bank and she scrambled back on her arse. He stabbed a finger at her. ‘And if there’s any more of that language, I’ll find some soap and do it again.’

  She wiped her mouth with a soggy sleeve and glanced at MacNamara then back to Dane.

  His mouth twitched. ‘You are not really that foolish. Don’t even think it.’

  She scowled. ‘You have it all back now, your horses and your money.’ She hiccupped and sniffed noisily. ‘Aunt Jemimah told me they had to send me away, that they’d find a place for me. But I’ll go my own way, no more trouble to any of you.’ Wet hair hung in damp strings on her shoulders.

  ‘And how you’ll manage that by yourself, I don’t know. We will go to Echuca and from there we will go to Melbourne. Perhaps I’ll be able find you a position there instead of dragging you to Sydney. It will be a hard few days’ riding, but I can tell you have the seat for it.’ He eyed her. ‘Did you happen to bring an outfit more suited?’

  ‘This outfit makes riding long distances much easier.’ She stood and brushed herself off, swiping at her wet hair before stomping towards the horses.

  Dane stepped ahead of her. ‘You take Douglas. I’ll ride MacNamara.’

  ‘They need to rest.’ Georgina reached out to stroke a softly pawing Douglas.

  ‘Pity, there’s not much to do about that.’ He swung onto MacNamara. ‘Mount up. We will ride until late afternoon and then camp. They’ll rest overnight.’ He turned away and barked a laugh. ‘And so will I.’

  Georgie thought about running then, could easily have done it, but even though Douglas was the freshest, he would still be no match for MacNamara. My horse, not his.

  Certainly having male company on the journey t
o Echuca, a good three days’ ride or so, would stave off problems from other travellers along the way. She should make the best of a bad situation. With reluctance, she did as he bade.

  They travelled in moody silence.

  Georgie knew Dane MacHenry would land her in a situation she’d never find her way out of, and the last thing on earth she wanted was a lifetime of servitude in a big ugly city. At least life on the river was clean and quiet.

  I will never go to Melbourne or Sydney with him. Ever.

  She was glad they were going to Echuca. Conor Foley would be there and he would certainly give this braggart a going over.

  They rode for hours, the heat of the day unnoticed as they made their own breeze. Perspiration dried on her before it ran. The great aromatic eucalyptus gums scented the air as the temperature soared. She caught glimpses of the huge river, and once saw, fleetingly, a paddle-steamer sailing its way downriver. Her heart lurched in anticipation. In Echuca, she would be free again.

  Then Dane signalled to pull off the road. She directed Douglas to the place Dane indicated, and slowed the horse to a walk. He examined a couple of areas up and down the bank before deciding on a camping spot. He removed MacNamara’s saddle and blanket then led him to the water. Georgie followed suit, aware that Douglas was very pleased to have stopped. He had kept up valiantly with the younger horse, and she wished for his sake she had taken him riding more often.

  Talking to him in soft whispers, she removed his saddle and blanket, and heaved them over a low-slung branch. The ride had tested even her endurance, for her knees wobbled and her arms ached. She tried to relax twitching muscles, shaking her arms then her legs one by one. She rubbed dried mud from her face and neck and it was then she noticed the fabric around her chest had loosened. It had clearly wriggled free of the pin that fastened it and was now settling itself uncomfortably about her middle. She would have to adjust the windings of the old bed sheet that bound her breasts flat or remove it, neither of which she would do in front of Dane.