Watching from afar, Paula studies the lives of Charles and Louisa, along with Elizabeth, Sylvia and Phillip. Why do they all seem so familiar to her? She knows these people. She knows their story oh-so-well! How can this be when she has a busy life of her own in 20th century Las Vegas?
From her detached reality, Paula remains riveted to their lives in nineteenth century Australia - a country that she has never visited previously. It all seems very real to her in this now-moment as the first Royal Tour of this country commences. Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, begins his 1867 tour of the city of Melbourne while Paula fights for life in a hospital on the Gold Coast in Australia as the 21st century makes its appearance.
At the same time, in 19th century Australia, Louisa battles daily to remain her own person after she is forced into an arranged marriage that she viewed as a fate worse than death.
Book 1 of a Trilogy series, Error of Understanding explores the possibility of past-lives and is for those avid readers who enjoy an intriguing fusion of fact, fiction and fantasy.
Watching from afar, Paula studies the lives of Charles and Louisa, along with Elizabeth, Sylvia and Phillip. Why do they all seem so familiar to her? She knows these people. She knows their story oh-so-well! How can this be when she has a busy life of her own in 20th century Las Vegas?
From her detached reality, Paula remains riveted to their lives in nineteenth century Australia - a country that she has never visited previously. It all seems very real to her in this now-moment as the first Royal Tour of this country commences. Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, begins his 1867 tour of the city of Melbourne while Paula fights for life in a hospital on the Gold Coast in Australia as the 21st century makes its appearance.
At the same time, in 19th century Australia, Louisa battles daily to remain her own person after she is forced into an arranged marriage that she viewed as a fate worse than death.
Book 1 of a Trilogy series, Error of Understanding explores the possibility of past-lives and is for those avid readers who enjoy an intriguing fusion of fact, fiction and fantasy.
Prologue
Paula
10 September, 1999
With coffee cup in hand, Paula stood at the window of their suite at the Sheraton Mirage Hotel and she stared out over the wide expanse of blue Pacific Ocean that was shimmering before her eyes. The day was clear and fine. The sky was deep blue and cloudless as she stood mesmerised while watching the surf roll onto the white, sandy beach at the rear of the hotel. She was reminded strongly of her first view of this same setting when she had arrived almost penniless on the Gold Coast, in Australia, ten years earlier. What a topsy-turvy ride life had provided for her since that time.
As she drained the coffee cup, a light plane flew by, obviously on its descent, and she presumed that it was heading for a landing beyond the Broadwater near to the hotel. Her heart pounded a little faster as the memory of her ride in another small plane came to her and it had begun on a beautiful day such as this one while leaving from a small airstrip beyond the Broadwater. What had happened to the years, she pondered.
The sound of the telephone brought her from her reverie and she placed the cup on the table as she lifted the receiver. While she did so, she caressed the petals of the roses that had been delivered from her husband early this morning and she realised that his flight from Melbourne would have landed at Coolangatta Airport by now. He would be en route to their luncheon venue. The lady at the hotel reception informed her that her limousine was waiting. Replacing the receiver, Paula moved to take one last look in the mirror. She needed today to be perfect!
Paula studied her reflection and decided that her figure was not much different from what it had been when she had stayed in this very same suite all those years ago. Looking at herself from every angle, she was pleased with the outcome of her shopping spree, which had resulted in an outfit that was more suited to a garden party than a birthday luncheon. She hoped that she would not be overdressed for the occasion, but where they were going to celebrate today was to remain a mystery. There was a surprise waiting for her, supposedly, and she experienced a tremor of excitement at this thought.
She ran the hair brush through her dark brown, shoulder-length hair yet again; then, before leaving the mirror, she caressed her stomach while gently running her hand over the soft fabric of the pale lilac skirt. This area of her anatomy would be expanding greatly in the months ahead and the thought gave her such a warm feeling of love that it almost took her breath away. She had a surprise of her own to impart on this, her thirty-fifth birthday.
Reaching for her handbag, she left the suite quickly and descended to the hotel lobby. There was a spring in her step as she left the hotel and moved into the black limousine that was waiting for her. The driver confided that he was aware of their destination but, with a wide grin adorning his face, the blonde-haired young man apologised profusely for not being permitted to divulge that information. He was a pleasant man of probably thirty years of age, she estimated, and he seemed to be enjoying his involvement in the plot.
As the vehicle moved slowly away from the hotel, Paula settled back to enjoy the drive on this wonderful day. Her thoughts drifted to her young son who was at their home in California, under the watchful gaze of her mother, his adoring grandmother. How she loved them all. Now, with another child expected, her life was filled to overflowing with so much love – a love that she shared with the most wonderful man it was possible to know.
“You are blessed, Paula . . . truly blessed,” she murmured to herself.
The limousine cruised along the highway at a steady speed. The traffic was heavy, with impatient drivers weaving in and out of the stream of vehicles ahead of them. She closed her eyes momentarily as thoughts of home began flooding her mind again. It was then that the sound of screaming brakes and screeching tyres reached her ears, thereby causing her eyes to fly open immediately.
Stones and dust were flying by the windows and erasing her view; then, the rolling motion began. Their limousine was rolling – over and over – and, with it, her own world began turning around and around before her. Fear and panic gripped her as tightly as did the seat belt that was holding her firmly in place. She could hear screaming and she felt that the screams were coming from her own lips, but these few, panic-stricken moments seemed to go on forever. Still, she was not certain from whom those terror-stricken sounds were emanating.
Suddenly, everything stopped. Silence reigned. By any description, it could be explained only as a deathly silence. The vehicle was resting on its side. Paula could not see anything – other than the back of the driver’s seat – while the driver she could not see at all. There did not seem to be any movement anywhere. She tried to move her body, but she had difficulty in doing so. She managed to move her left arm slightly before it fell back heavily onto her body. For some strange reason, she could not feel any pain. After what seemed an eternity, there were faces peering into her confined prison cell; then, she saw hands reaching into the vehicle. Relief swept over her as she realised that all would be well and consciousness left her.
Incredibly, it was in this moment that Paula found herself standing beside the wrecked limousine while viewing the carnage in a somewhat detached state. It appeared that she had come out of the disaster unscathed. People were running from one vehicle to another – frantically rushing hither and thither – but, the silence that she had experienced earlier continued now. She saw her young driver sprawled on the roadside and his face and clothing were covered in blood. He was unconscious and she wanted to move to comfort him but, before she could do so, a police officer covered his entire body, including his face, with a sheet.
Paula was shocked. She closed her eyes and remembered his laughing face, with its beautiful smile, when he told her that he could not reveal their destination. Then, she noticed a young woman being placed onto a stretcher on the ground and she saw the paramedics working frantically upon her lifeless body.
Looking around, she noticed many people who were dazed and bleeding, and there were many smashed vehicles, including a coach and a large, articulated vehicle. In a disinterested manner, she looked down at the woman on the stretcher that was being placed hurriedly into the ambulance. She saw the driver running as fast as he could to the front of the ambulance. He jumped into the driver’s cabin, started the motor and the vehicle moved towards the road under the direction of a police officer.
Inside the ambulance, two paramedics were working frantically on the woman and when Paula looked more closely at the patient, she realised that she was wearing a pale lilac skirt similar to the one, which she was wearing.
In an instant and without any effort on her part, everything changed. Paula found herself resting on a stretcher in the rear of an ambulance. Looking up into the faces of a young woman and an older man, she saw concern change to relief in an instant.
“She’s opening her eyes! Paula? Can you hear me? Paula, squeeze my fingers, if you can.”
Paula squeezed the young woman’s fingers with all of her might, but there was no reaction from her as she continued to watch Paula closely.
“Paula, can you squeeze my fingers?” she asked again.
Annoyed that her first effort was not acknowledged, Paula squeezed again, but more tightly this time. The man reached over at this moment and placed his hand onto her neck, as though feeling for a pulse. Paula, with eyes open, stared up at the woman and continued to squeeze her hand while watching for a response. Suddenly, she looked directly down into Paula’s eyes with a smile of triumph.
“We’ve got her,” she stated calmly to her partner.
The man moved his hand from Paula’s neck to her forehead and he brushed a strand of hair from her face. He smiled at her then.
“Good girl,” he whispered quietly to Paula. “Welcome back.”
Paula was wondering about his last words. She wanted to ask him where he thought that she had been, but the mask over her mouth prevented such communication. Without warning, the rear doors flew open and the stretcher – with Paula atop – was whisked out of the ambulance. Everyone was running, except Paula, who remained still and untouched by the commotion that was occurring around her. The doors to the hospital opened to swallow them as the sign bearing the word, EMERGENCY, was emblazoned upon Paula’s mind. She lost consciousness again.
Paula awoke to find a man – presumably a nurse – who was wearing a white shirt and white trousers standing beside her bed. At first, he was unaware of her attention on him, because his gaze was fixed firmly on the intravenous sachet that he was adjusting on the stand near her bed. Paula opened her mouth to speak to him. She realised that she was unable to do so. She tried to lift her other hand to reach out to him, but she found that she could not move. After a moment, he glanced down while smiling at her. He appeared to be about forty years of age. He had dark hair and brown eyes that seemed to dance when he smiled. His name-tag bore his identity.
“Hi! I’m Gerard. How’re you feeling?”
“As though I’ve been run down by a lorry,” Paula managed to reply, but as panic seized her, she questioned him. “My baby! What’s happened to my baby? Please . . . is my baby safe?”
“Your baby’s as fine as it’s ever been but, I’ll tell you this, you’re not far wrong about the lorry!” Gerard remarked, with a smile.
“Where’s my husband?” Paula asked.
“The police are trying to locate him, but it appears he’s not answering his mobile phone and no one seems to know about his movements today. So, do you know where he might be?”
“No,” she said, while shaking her head; then, she explained. “I was being taken to a surprise lunch somewhere. The driver knows where that is.”
Gerard did not reply, but in a deliberate manner, he focussed his full attention on the intravenous apparatus. Paula was thoughtful for a few moments.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked.
She was certain that he was and this was a tragedy, especially for one so young, as well as for his family. Also, she knew that if this were the case, he would be unable to enlighten anyone about their destination now.
“I’m unable to say. There were several deaths in that pile-up and he may have been one of them,” Gerard replied guardedly; then, he confided to her. “But, don’t worry. The police will find your husband.”
“What sort of injuries do I have? Are they serious?” Paula asked.
“The doctor has sent for a specialist and they’ll be consulting with you soon, but there’re others in worst condition, believe me. At this stage, I can’t elaborate on the extent of your injuries, so let’s just wait for the doctor’s diagnosis. Okay?”
Paula was the only patient in this two-bed hospital room. She studied her immediate surroundings momentarily before glancing through the large glass window to the left side of her bed and she gazed out at the beautiful garden that was bathed in sunlight. There were a few tall trees in the distance while the immediate area was ablaze with an array of rose bushes of various shapes, sizes and colours. It was a peaceful setting.
She saw a movement at the end of her bed and her attention was diverted momentarily. There was a lady standing there and she appeared vaguely familiar. As Paula was watching her, she felt the nurse leave the room and she turned her head to see the door closing behind Gerard. She returned her full attention to the woman, who had dark hair, a slim figure and seemed to be about Paula’s age. She was dressed in a long, flowing, white dress that appeared to be almost transparent. She moved gracefully and silently as she came around to the left side of the bed. Upon closer inspection, Paula realised that she was radiating a beautiful light and she seemed almost translucent.
She wished that Gerard had not left so quickly and she thought of reaching for the buzzer to ring for assistance, but her whole body seemed to be immobilised completely. Strangely though, Paula felt not one particle of pain, nor one flicker of fear, because there was a stream of great love flowing from this lady.
“Are you an angel?” Paula asked, in wonder.
“Let us say that I am the angelic version of you,” she said with a slight, though enigmatic, smile that held a trace of humour.
It was then Paula realised that the lady had not moved her lips, yet she had heard her words clearly. With a start, she realised, also, that she recognised her. She was a more beautiful and more radiant image of the one that had stared back at Paula, when she had looked upon her own reflection in the mirror before leaving the hotel earlier in the day. What was happening here? Was she hallucinating as a result of the drugs administered by the paramedics?
Panic began to rise. Had she, Paula, died, along with the driver, she wondered. But, she could not have done so, for she remembered the ambulance crew welcoming her back and the rush and bustle as they entered the hospital. Gerard, the nurse, was real. He had been with her just moments ago. Most definitely, he had been here and she had spoken with him. Of that, there was no doubt. Or, was there, she wondered, as the incessant jumble of thoughts kept revolving around in her mind.
“Don’t be afraid. I am here to protect you and to surround you in my love. You need to heal now and fear is all that can prevent that. Close your eyes and let me sing a lullaby to you. I feel you will recognise it as soon as you hear the words.”
“What is your name?” Paula asked.
“I am called Selene. Don’t you remember me?”
Paula shook her head slightly and found that she was having difficulty focussing upon Selene who was sitting now on the side of her bed and smiling down at her. Paula felt herself drifting into a deep sleep and she seemed to be unable to prevent this from happening. There were many questions that she wanted to ask Selene, but she could not do so, because a melody was filling her mind and her senses. It was one that her own mother would sing to her often as a child when she was enduring one of her many nightmares. The words of that song, accompanied by her mother’s caressing and loving hands, had stilled always those dreadful fears that the nightmares had brought with them.
For Paula, the hospital room and the beautiful Selene ceased to exist. She found herself drifting to another time and another place, guided by and protected by the loving Selene who was stroking her hair and singing to her still. Paula felt that she was floating away, high above a wide river in an area, which was sparsely populated. On the river bank, there were tall green trees, interspersed with thick bush, and beyond this, the district opened up to reveal cleared land with many flocks of sheep grazing on the lush grass. It was an idyllic setting.
All of a sudden, she found herself looking down at a young girl of approximately sixteen years of age. The girl was dressed in clothing associated more with the nineteenth century than this present time. She was alone on the deserted river bank and engrossed in the book that she was reading. Paula concentrated her full attention on the scene before her eyes and she was trying to understand why it all seemed so familiar to her.
The rays of sunlight piercing through the leaves of the trees caught and highlighted the long, auburn curls on the girl’s head. Her discarded bonnet had been tossed unceremoniously onto the dusty track and her bare feet peeped from beneath her richly-embroidered long gown.
Paula was but the casual observer of this scene from a long-ago time in history – Australian history, to be exact.
PART ONE
Victorian Victorians
PART ONE
Chapter One
– Victorian Victorians –
The year was 1867, in the month of September, to be precise. The season was spring, that being a Southern Hemisphere spring. The country was the one known now as Australia, and in the State of Victoria.
Louisa
Coercion and Compromise
A young girl, who was propped against a river red gum tree on the banks of a wide expanse of water that was the Murray River, continued to devour the words that she was reading in the book, which she held in her slender hands. Suddenly, she was distracted from the task in hand by the screeching of a flock of galahs. These noisy, colourful birds chose to perch upon the branches above the girl’s head where they continued their vociferous discussion. In disgust, she threw her book onto the grass and, looking up, she shouted.
“You’ve hundreds of trees to choose from. This one’s mine!”
The birds looked down at her momentarily; then, they ignored her completely –
but not so the flies. She brushed several flies from her pretty face as she tugged at the fine lace at the neck of her gown. Beads of perspiration trickled from beneath her long, auburn hair and these ran in uneven lines down her face, thereby highlighting several light brown freckles on her nose and cheeks. She gazed longingly at the sparkling waters of the river. They were cool, inviting and very tempting. The clear water lapped the bank of the river and the lone willow tree bowed down to sample its wares.
The girl glanced furtively towards the homestead verandah where she knew that her father was sleeping on this lazy morning. Standing, she moved farther along the narrow path to where the bush grew thicker and she edged behind the bushes to where she would be out of sight of anyone at the homestead. The only other occupant was Mrs. McBryde, who was the cook and housekeeper to the family. Other than a group of wandering aboriginal people whom she had seen farther upstream earlier, she knew that she was all alone on this beautiful morning.
She removed the heavy clothing that was designed for Melbourne winters and she slid silently into the water, the temperature of which caused her to lose her breath momentarily. This act had been carried out hundreds of times on this river bank in her sixteen years of life, as her mother who was afraid her only child might drown in the river flowing by the front door, had made certain that her child could swim before she could walk.
Moving through the water in a slow, easy style as she had done so many times before, she reached the middle of the river. There, she rolled onto her back and floated on top of the water while allowing her body to drift with the current as the snow-fed waters moved from the mountain to the sea, which was many, many miles away from this isolated, virgin area. The sun shone down on her face from a cloudless, blue sky.
By entering the water, she knew that she was in the State of New South Wales now. How long she floated in this state of bliss, Louisa did not know, but a foreign, alien sound began to penetrate her world and the silence was broken by a dull, throbbing noise. As this reached her ears and brought her slowly out of her reverie, the shrill whistle from a paddle-steamer screamed through the air when the boat rounded the bend upstream and a few hundred yards away from the naked girl.
Immediately alert, she swam for the Victorian bank. There was an urgency in those brisk, almost frantic, strokes as she raced for the protection of the bank. Her auburn hair flashed in the sunlight while she streaked through the water. As the paddle-steamer chugged into view, Louisa dived and swam the last few yards underwater. This was not the first time that she had been disturbed in a similar manner. She surfaced, as she had done many times before, beneath a weeping willow tree. This was not the first occasion that its protective leaves had provided her with sanctuary, either. Hidden from the view of the crew on the boat, she gasped for fresh air to fill her empty lungs. She watched the familiar figure of Captain Bill Bartlett as he moved along the deck of the Charmaine. She smiled to herself in anticipation of his antics in the kitchen upon his arrival at the homestead, because she knew that they would be staying overnight. She knew, also, that he would attempt, for the hundredth time, to persuade his Brydie to become his bride. As always, his pleas would fall on deaf ears as Mrs. McBryde would laugh and ward off his advances.
“Why would I want another man in my life?” Louisa could almost hear her words again. “I’ve enough to do now. I don’t need any more socks to darn or clothes to wash, or meals to cook! Be off with you, Bill Bartlett! Allow me to get on with my chores.”
This was a saga that had been repeated so many times that it was a wonder Captain Bill kept calling at all. Except for his great friendship with her father, Bill Bartlett may have been tempted to pass by the homestead without pausing for an overnight stay. Perhaps, his love for his Brydie was so deep that he thought he would win her over in the end. Captain Bill would promise Brydie a life of luxury on board his beloved Charmaine. He would feign shock and horror at her refusal of his offer.
The bedraggled girl in the water chuckled to herself. It was then that she noticed the stranger on the deck. He was moving slowly from bow to stern. He appeared to look in her direction and she stiffened while easing herself back further behind the branches as Captain Bill called to him. Then, the man replied. Both men laughed while still looking in her direction. Paddles churning, the steamer moved from view around a slight bend in the river as it headed in the direction of the pontoon in front of her home.
She waited for a few moments; then, she surfaced and ran from the water. She raced to her clothes and grabbed her billowing petticoat in haste before using this article of clothing to quickly and lightly dry her body. She devoted all of her energy to drying her hair, which had a tendency to curl tightly when wet, a tell-tale sign that her father could not help but notice, she knew. She grimaced.
“Why couldn’t they have waited another hour?” she moaned to herself.
The flock of galahs had long since abandoned the tree. She dressed hurriedly; then, she reached for her ribbon and tied her hair back in a tight knot. She placed her bonnet on her head while tucking the loose strands of wet hair under it, before tying its ribbons under her chin. The wet petticoat she rolled into a ball and placed behind a log for later retrieval. Barefoot as always – unless necessity dictated otherwise – and clutching her book under her arm, she tripped along the dirt track towards the homestead. George Howard, aroused from his morning slumber, stood holding the verandah rail for support. His frail appearance caused her much concern. A shout from the steamer attracted her attention.
“Hey! Louisa! How’s the loveliest lass on my river?” Captain Bill enquired.
Laughing at the cue that he had used for all of her life, she jumped a log and skipped along the narrow dirt track before taking the path that led to the river and, in so doing, avoiding her father’s stern countenance for a time, because he could not fail to note her dishevelled appearance. Louisa Howard ran lightly over the grass to the pontoon as Captain Bill jumped onto the grass. He was a tall, well-built man with lightly coloured, unruly hair tucked beneath his old cap. With ease, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her high into the air. He spun around; then, with a hearty laugh, he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bank by the river’s edge. Still laughing, Louisa struggled to keep her balance as her feet landed on the uneven ground.
“Hello, Captain Bill. What brings you back so soon?”
“Change of plans, lassy. Change of plans,” he replied.
He left her then as he made his way up the steps towards the sprawling homestead and, giving a quick wave in George Howard’s direction, he turned aside, obviously heading toward the sanctuary of Mrs. McBryde’s kitchen. Louisa knew her father would be angry, for he approved no longer of these childish games. Since her return from Melbourne and her mother’s sudden death, George Howard was a changed man. Grief-stricken, solemn, irritable and with his health causing not-inconsiderable concern, he was difficult to please. What Louisa had considered normal in the past was normal no longer in his eyes. He was watching her behaviour now, of that she had no doubt, but she refrained from glancing in the direction of the verandah. Instead, she lingered by the paddle-wheeler to escape his wrath while Captain Bill went in search of his beloved Brydie. Suddenly, Louisa became aware of the stranger who she had seen earlier on the boat. He was standing at the end of the gangplank and moving onto the pontoon. He had been watching her antics with Captain Bill, also, she assumed.
“Good morning,” he called to her as he moved in her direction.
He was a tall man, with dark, wind-swept hair and grey eyes that swept her body, from her head to her feet, in an instant.
“Hello, I’m Louisa Howard. If you’ve come to see my father, he’s on the verandah.”
Louisa pointed in the direction of the homestead as George Howard raised his hand in a wave that the stranger acknowledged.
“Thank you, Miss Howard. I am Charles Lyndhurst. Your father has been expecting a visit from me, has he not?”
Louisa looked blankly at him as he scrutinised her countenance. She shrugged her shoulders slightly while showing scant interest in the man who was addressing her.
“Oh! Really. He didn’t mention it to me.”
Glancing beyond the new arrival, Louisa caught sight of the young deck-hand who had been with the Charmaine crew for a short while. Without so much as another thought, she dismissed the visitor from her mind and called to the young man.
“Ben! Do you want to ride? I’ll get the horses,” Louisa called.
She was pleased to have an excuse to be away from her father’s presence for a short time, but the young man who was carrying a bucket and a mop, shook his head sadly. Charles Lyndhurst was watching the exchange between the two of them with much interest. Ben moved along the deck as he called over his shoulder to Louisa.
“Nah! Can’t do it now. Captain’s given me a dozen chores to do before supper. What about first light tomorrow? That be okay, Lou?”
Disappointed, Louisa nodded in agreement at the arrangement as Ben disappeared from sight. She attempted to hide her disappointment, as she realised that Charles Lyndhurst was standing beside her still. He was watching her closely and she felt the colour rising in her face. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of her appearance. Strands of limp, damp hair had fallen from beneath her bonnet and these were on her forehead now. Her bonnet had fallen back and was resting at the nape of her neck. Unruly auburn curls had crept beneath the lace at her neck, also. She lifted her arm while attempting to tidy her hair and their guest never allowed his eyes to waver from her.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me to your father?”
Still holding the book, she turned quickly while being unable to find an excuse and reluctant to refuse their guest, thereby incurring more disfavour with her father.
Charles Lyndhurst mounted the steps alongside her. She estimated him to be somewhat younger than Captain Bill, possibly around thirty-five years of age. His attire and demeanour were that of a gentleman; not that of the rough, hard-working, hard-drinking riverboat men whom she had known for all of her life, along with the shearers who came periodically to shear the sheep. George Howard disapproved of her association with these men, Ben included; yet, when her mother was alive, he did not seem to notice whom she befriended. She was at a loss to know why Charles Lyndhurst was visiting with them. That he intended to remain overnight was obvious, as Ben had suggested a dawn ride.
Louisa escorted the visitor to her father on the verandah and George shuffled forward, with his hand outstretched toward the new arrival. He was smiling for the first time in many, many months, Louisa noted, as Charles grasped George’s hand firmly in greeting.
“Charles, it’s nice of you to come. I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Delighted to be here, George. I’ve not seen you in Melbourne for some time, I think?”
George Howard shook his head without offering any explanation as Charles turned and surveyed the river from their vantage point on the homestead verandah.
“It is a pleasant, peaceful place,” Charles commented quietly. “I met with my father in Bendigo and it seemed opportune to visit with you before returning to Melbourne.”
“You’ve met my daughter, Louisa, I see,” George said, thus stating the obvious; then, giving her a cursory glance, he snapped an order. “Louisa, you can take Mr. Lyndhurst on a tour of the property after lunch.”
Louisa, who had been sidling backwards in the hope of escaping from the encounter between the two men, stopped suddenly and stared at her father. Instantly, fear gripped her to her core. Sir Charles Lyndhurst, who had purchased the adjoining property six months earlier, had visited them recently. This was his son, obviously.
“You’re not thinking of selling our home, are you, Papa?” Louisa asked, with her voice betraying the rising panic within her while demanding. “Tell me you’re not!”
“Selling? Of course not, child. Don’t be absurd!” he replied gruffly.
Surveying Louisa’s appearance with obvious disapproval in his eyes, he suggested that she change and join them for lunch. George cast a warning glare at her as he turned to shuffle into the homestead beside Charles Lyndhurst. Her unruly hair, which had managed to curl itself tightly beneath her bonnet, and the dampness of her gown, especially the lace at her throat that was covered in dust now, were all the evidence he needed to draw the conclusion that he had. He had forbidden her to swim in the river. That was one great love of her life. The other was her horse, Hilton.
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Louisa’s stomach as she turned and walked into the house. Instead of walking towards her bedroom, she ran and escaped through a doorway onto the side verandah. She jumped down the two steps, ran across the grass at lightning speed and entered in great haste into the outbuilding, which housed the kitchen. Mrs. McBryde was extracting a tray from the oven. The aroma was tantalising, but Louisa had other important matters on her mind.
“Brydie, why is he here?” Louisa shouted from the kitchen doorway.
Mrs. McBryde turned to survey Louisa and shook her head in mock despair.
“Look at the state of you, young lady! What they taught you at that ladies’ establishment in Melbourne, I do not know. But, I do know what your papa will say if he sees you in that state. Go and ready yourself for lunch. It will be on the table in five minutes. Go! Be off with you, for I’m too busy to gossip.”
Louisa stood her ground. Her lips formed into a slight pout and an air of defiance was obvious in her stance. Her chin came forward and raised itself into the air in a determined fashion.
“I have to know before lunch. Why is Charles Lyndhurst visiting with us here?” Louisa demanded. “It’s not for the improvement of his constitution, I’ll warrant.”
“I’m not privy to the affairs of your father’s friends, child.”
Mrs. McBryde was so busy with luncheon preparations that Louisa realised she would not receive a direct answer to her questions at this time. Reluctantly, she turned to leave, but she was stopped in her tracks by Brydie’s voice.
“Louisa! Look at your feet!”
Louisa looked down at her bare feet that were covered in dirt, and she realised the state of her appearance more fully than she had before this moment. She remembered the strange look that Charles Lyndhurst had given her at the pontoon, and her father’s wrathful gaze on the verandah. She began to giggle. The giggle became a gurgle; then, it turned into an infectious laugh until tears were streaming down her face. As always, when Louisa’s laughter filled her kitchen, Brydie softened and, despite her horror at the sight of her charge’s appearance, she laughed while looking on Louisa with eyes filled with love.
In an instant, Louisa fled the kitchen and sought sanctuary in her bedroom. She tossed the book onto her bed and walked to the porcelain basin and jug that stood on the table. It was here that she felt she could begin to wash away the sins of the morning although, in her heart, she knew it would take more than a jug of water to erase the first impression that she had given to Mr. Charles Lyndhurst on this fine, September day. Giggling to herself as she surveyed her appearance in the mirror, she began the task of removing the dust-covered clothes from her body, thereby attempting to appear as a lady at the luncheon table. A miracle was needed this day, Louisa felt, in order to accomplish a feat such as that.
It was little short of a miraculous transformation that found Miss Howard seated demurely in the dining room while attempting to show some of the lady-like traits that had been forced upon her at the School for Ladies, where she had been a reluctant and somewhat defiant pupil for the year prior to her mother’s death. In the year since then, she had reverted to the Louisa of old, much to her father’s horror. This had been her way of dealing with the grief-stricken state, in which she had found herself. Her father, it seemed to her, appeared to find solace in illness.
Later that afternoon, she escorted their guest on a walking tour of the property in the immediate vicinity of the homestead. She agreed to her father’s request in this regard, as she was painfully aware of the state of his health and she knew that he would sleep for an hour or more if she relieved him of the responsibility of entertaining Mr. Lyndhurst. The first building that they visited was the stables, which appeared to capture the interest of Charles Lyndhurst greatly and, in particular, her stallion, Hilton. He watched with interest as Hilton nuzzled her hair as she murmured soothing words to him. Her love for this treasured horse was returned ten-fold and Hilton’s flesh quivered as her hands stroked his neck. From there, they moved to the shearing sheds.
The last structure to be inspected was the partially completed home on the hill, situated to the right of the present homestead. This inspection was accomplished in a short period of time. Charles Lyndhurst seemed to be more interested in quizzing her, Louisa felt, than in taking much interest in the stables, the sheep paddocks, the shearing sheds or the new homestead. They stood now between the walls of the partly-constructed home, on which all work had ceased on the day Mary Howard died. The sun streamed through the beams of the unfinished roof and vines grew up the frames of the walls. Louisa stood with Charles amongst the foundations where the drawing room had been proposed.
“Papa commissioned a Melbourne architect to design it. Mama was excited about her palace, as she called it. She couldn’t wait for it to be completed. Now, I doubt that it ever will be,” Louisa confided.
“Your mother died in Echuca recently, I believe?” Charles queried.
Louisa explained a little of their trip from Melbourne and the reason for the family being in Echuca at that time. Louisa had been living in Melbourne and when her year at the school was all but over, her parents had come to collect her. Then, the family had returned by train to Echuca where they were to board a paddle-steamer for the remainder of their journey home on the Murray River, after an overnight stay at an hotel in Echuca.
Louisa remembered vividly the evening of her mother’s sudden illness – how they had been with their friends at the vicarage in Echuca for dinner – and with her mother feeling unwell, they had returned hurriedly to the hotel to sleep. Mary Howard became ill suddenly and died in her husband’s arms before a doctor could be summoned.
In that instant, Louisa changed the subject and made mention of her father’s sister and her husband in Melbourne. It was with thinly veiled contempt that she mentioned, in passing, her time at the School for Ladies.
“You were there against your wishes, I take it?” Charles asked, with a laugh.
Louisa grimaced while nodding slowly. She failed to mention that her parents’ unscheduled journey had been necessitated by her letter threatening ‘to run away from school’, which she regarded as a prison, and ‘to become a stowaway on board ship’ unless she was brought back to her home and family immediately. This threat her mother had taken seriously, although her father was certain it had been a ruse only.
“I hated the school, not being with Aunt Sophie and Uncle Robert . . . but the whole dreary business of needlework, etiquette and such. It was so tedious and I was homesick. I missed Hilton terribly, also.”
Once back home, free from restriction and no longer hampered by convention, her life had returned to one of frantic activity connected with the workings of the property, in which her father had lost interest immediately following the death of his beloved wife. Louisa’s days were extremely busy, but the nights were troubled as the grief and the guilt associated with her mother’s death possessed her soul. She tortured herself relentlessly over that letter she had written, because she believed firmly that had she not made those threats about absconding then, her mother would not have made the long, tiring journey to Melbourne. Therefore, Mary Howard would be alive still. Louisa did not take into account her mother’s heart condition, about which she knew little, and nor did she consider that her mother was not a young woman, having married late in life and conceiving her only child some years later, much to the surprise and delight of her husband, as well as herself.
George Howard’s health had deteriorated markedly since that night in Echuca twelve months earlier. He seemed to Louisa to have lost the will to live. Most of this information was imparted to Charles Lyndhurst in an indirect manner. His probing questions and her non-committal replies revealed more than Louisa supposed. With the tour of inspection over, Louisa, with her duty done, deposited Charles Lyndhurst in the drawing room of the homestead while leaving Brydie to serve him refreshments. Louisa sought refuge by her river alone.
In the evening, the peaceful tranquillity of the homestead was disturbed by two outbursts from Louisa. The first was her complaint about the fact that the selection of her attire for the evening had been supervised by Brydie, on her father’s instruction. This grievance was aired before their guest joined them for dinner. Her father was unmoved by her loud protestations, which were overheard, in all probability, by their visitor in the adjoining guest room. Louisa’s mood was far from accommodating during the consumption of the evening meal. The other objection arose as a result of a request from her father for a rendition on the pianoforte after dinner. This was met with a flat refusal by Louisa and her open display of defiance left George Howard speechless and seething with rage.
“No, Papa, I will not. You cannot expect such a performance, as you know I haven’t played since Yvette left. It’s impossible. I will not do so!”
“Yvette was my daughter’s governess, Charles,” George explained hurriedly.
He was endeavouring to mask his daughter’s open defiance. Louisa remained adamant in her stance while her father’s eyes demanded obedience.
“It was remiss of you to forego your practice. It is of the utmost importance to a young lady,” George stated.
“Papa! How could you make such a statement when I’ve aided you every day in the affairs of the property? I don’t have time to play at being a lady!” she shouted.
Mrs. McBryde timed her entrance perfectly and the tension was eased slightly. Watching her father, Louisa knew that he was livid, as she was. Glancing at Charles Lyndhurst, she thought that she detected an air of detached amusement at the interchange between father and daughter. Mrs. McBryde’s countenance was impassive, as always.
“Nonsense, Louisa. You do exaggerate!” George stated emphatically; then, turning to their guest, he addressed him politely. “Charles, perhaps we could adjourn to the library, as we’ve much to discuss and we’ll not be disturbed there.”
George, scowling at Louisa, moved from the table while Charles followed his example. Glancing in Louisa’s direction, Charles gave her a quick smile, but her anger had not subsided. She remained rigid in her chair, not responding to his olive branch.
When she was left alone and seated at the dining table, she looked up at Mrs. McBryde who began to clear away the dishes. Louisa was on the verge of attempting another interrogation of the housekeeper when the parlour maid entered the room. Betsy came to the table immediately to assist Mrs. McBryde who kept her gaze averted from Louisa’s eyes – deliberately, or otherwise.
Louisa strode to the verandah to calm her anger. She jumped down the step and strolled down to the river bank once again. Her visit to Hilton and her mother’s horse, Cadence, comfortably settled in their stable for the night, was the next stop on her journey. Finally, Louisa wandered to the kitchen while hoping to talk with Brydie, only to find her in deep conversation with Bill Bartlett. They were sharing cups of tea at the kitchen table. Betsy was over by the kitchen bench with her arms submerged in a basin of hot water as she washed the dishes from dinner.
Thwarted in her endeavours, Louisa wandered outside the kitchen while listening to the plaintive notes of the harmonica drifting up from the Charmaine. She was deeply troubled by the arrival of Charles Lyndhurst, but she could not understand why this would be so. On the morrow, he would be gone, she reasoned with herself. She sat down on the stone steps leading to the pontoon and stared up into the clear night sky, until one persistent mosquito drove her indoors. Louisa wandered alone through the empty homestead. The library door was closed tightly and, as she walked by, she could hear the two occupants deep in discussion, although their words were indistinct. What her father could have in common with their visitor, she knew not.
She remembered the letter that her father had suggested she write to Aunt Sophie and which Charles had offered to deliver to her upon his return to Melbourne. She entered her bedroom and, seated at her bureau, Louisa commenced the letter in the vain hope that her compliance with this directive would placate, in some way, her father’s anger over her morning swim and her defiant and angry outburst at dinner.
21st. September, 1867
My Dearest Aunt Sophie,
I write to you in haste as our guest, Mr. Lyndhurst, with whom I believe you are acquainted, has kindly offered to deliver this missive to you. You may recall I mentioned to you that his father, Sir Charles Lyndhurst, had purchased the adjoining property. I am assuming this is a neighbourly visit and hoping it is not anything more than that. Papa’s condition appears to have deteriorated. I would be relieved to have a doctor visit him, but he refuses steadfastly such attention. Perhaps you could persuade him, as I fear he dies a little more every day as I watch. His grief is no less now than at the time of Mama’s passing, although I fail to understand how grief can cause such a difference in the health of a person of Papa’s strong constitution. I would be grateful if you could write soon and advise me in this regard, as the situation cannot continue.
I trust this finds you well and, also, Uncle Robert. We would welcome a visit from you both, although I understand your loathing at the thought of such a long, arduous and dusty train journey. Your kind invitation is appreciated, but returning to Melbourne holds no interest for me. Pray do not take offence, which I know you will not, but I belong here with Papa, my horses and my river. I know your door is always open to me, as you mentioned, and your home is mine, also. This I know and appreciate.
Your kindness to me is a source of great comfort at this sad time. In honesty, attending those endless social activities, which you detailed in your last missive, would excite me not at all, I do assure you. But, I must confess a little curiosity in viewing from a distance our Royal Visitor. Pray write me a detailed account of the Tour, and advise me if Prince Alfred appears any different in the flesh than we lesser mortals do.
My love, as always, to you and to Uncle Robert,
Your loving niece,
Louisa.
Louisa read the letter again. Satisfied with her efforts, she left it on the bureau and extinguishing the lamp, she moved to the windows and opened the drapes. From her vantage point, the Charmaine was out of sight, and now there was not a sound coming from the river. The moonlight was shining on the water and Louisa stood for some time, lulled by its soothing rhythm. She was troubled by Charles Lyndhurst’s visit and everything within her told her that something was amiss. Perhaps her father had not been completely honest with her regarding the sale of the property, she pondered, as she removed her stockings and shoes. Brydie would know, she was certain.
On a sudden impulse, Louisa left her bedroom and headed in the direction of the outbuilding, which housed the kitchen. Mrs. McBryde may be there still, she thought hopefully. She would ask her advice again. However, Louisa found the kitchen in complete darkness. She was reluctant to disturb Brydie after she had retired to her own quarters and her father had forbidden this – strictly forbidden it, in fact – but perhaps, she would not mind if tonight Louisa called upon her in her private quarters beyond the building that housed the kitchen. After all, the matter was of some urgency. And this, Brydie would appreciate fully, Louisa felt.
In that moment, Louisa noticed the figure of a woman dressed in the long-sleeved, dark grey gown that was the trademark of Mrs. McBryde, coming from the direction of the outhouse further away, toward the bush on the other side of the clearing, and she was carrying a lantern. With the matter decided, Louisa followed the lady at some distance while hoping to reach her private quarters at the same time as Mrs. McBryde did. Her quarters consisted of a bedroom and a separate small sitting room. Mrs. McBryde had entered already by the time she reached the building but, undeterred, Louisa walked quietly along the gravel track, her bare feet soundless as they trod the path.
Despite her father’s orders, she had taken this path so many times that the moon, lighting her way, was hardly necessary at all. As she moved beneath the bedroom window while heading towards the front of the compact timber building, Louisa heard a male voice, which she recognised unmistakably as that of Captain Bill Bartlett. She stopped abruptly under the open and well-lit window.
“Come to check on the merchandise for himself, I expect, and he got more than an eye-full today, I’ll warrant. I had to order young Ben to swab the deck . . . for a second time . . . to take his mind off the sight. You really should talk to her about that caper, Colleen. She’s a sweet kid and I’d hate to see anyone hurt her, but you’d have to agree it’s an isolated spot she chooses.”
Puzzled by the captain’s voice coming from Mrs. McBryde’s living quarters, Louisa paid scant attention to his words as she stood on her tiptoes in the hope of seeing where he was. She took a few steps backwards towards a nearby tree. Still, he was obscured from her view, but the matter was urgent. She must speak with Brydie tonight or she would know no peace whatsoever. Glancing up at the tree, she reached for the lowest branch. Despite her long gown and voluminous petticoat, she scaled it with ease before settling herself on the lowest branch, which afforded her a clear view into the bedroom.
This room appeared, at first glance, to be empty, because she did not see him at the outset. It was when he moved to the dressing table and began pouring wine into two glasses that he came into her line of vision. Mrs. McBryde’s voice penetrated the stillness as it echoed through the quiet night, obviously emanating from the sitting room, as the woman had not appeared as yet in her bedroom.
“I know! And, it worries me greatly. I’ve mentioned the matter to George, but I’m not taken seriously at all. I shall try again, although I suspect the die is cast,” Mrs. McBryde stated.
Her voice was drifting through from the direction of the darkened sitting room, adjoining the bedroom, from where the conversation with Captain Bill continued.
“I’m so angry with George for allowing himself to be hoodwinked by that evil, old fox who visited him a few weeks ago. I watched them, sitting on the verandah after dinner and talking together as they sipped their brandy. I knew then something was afoot. I could feel an ill-wind blowing. Louisa will be truly horrified, you mark my words!”
Alarm gripped Louisa as icy fingers ran up her spine. She had been correct in her assumption, then. Her father was selling to Sir Charles Lyndhurst and his son would be here to finalise the details, no doubt.
Louisa, perched on the branch, was staring with unseeing eyes through the open window, so close that she could hear very clearly every word that was being spoken. While not paying much attention to what was occurring within, what happened next caused her to gasp audibly. Fortunately, no one heard. The captain had eyes only for his Brydie who had entered the bedroom.
Mrs. McBryde was wearing a dressing gown of the finest lace and of the palest shade of pink – almost white, really. Her brown hair was long and straight. It shimmered in the lamplight as it hung loose, being at least a foot below her waist. She must be able to sit on it, Louisa thought, and she looked so much younger that it was difficult to believe this was the same woman who had arrived at the homestead four years earlier, following the death of her husband in Echuca. She was thirty-six years old then, but never had Louisa seen her as she appeared now. Captain Bartlett placed his glass on the dressing table slowly and deliberately, without taking his eyes away from his companion who moved to him.
To Louisa’s astonishment, Mrs. McBryde – cook and housekeeper to the Howard homestead – took a hold of his arms and she manoeuvred him gently towards her bed. There, she began to undress him slowly, until he stood naked in the bedroom and in full view of Louisa’s wide, wide eyes.
She wanted to jump down from the tree and run; to run anywhere and to be anywhere else but where she was at this moment. She could not. Firstly, she was too stunned to move and, secondly, she would be heard and caught spying. That she could not bear. It was never her intention to do so. She did not know really how she found herself in this dilemma, but then, rarely did she know how she landed herself in many situations that were not to her liking, she told herself.
Transfixed, she watched as Colleen McBryde spoke softly to him; then, she laughed at his reply, which Louisa did not hear. Mrs. McBryde lifted her right hand and, with arm outstretched, she pushed Bill Bartlett gently, with her hand on his bare chest. He took a step back and fell onto the bed while pulling her with him. Then, while Mrs. McBryde was laying on him, his hands moved to her shoulders and removed the lace dressing gown. To Louisa’s amazement, she, also, was naked. They were whispering to each other for a moment or two, before the woman gave a soft giggle and kissed him on the mouth, with her hair cascading around his face and onto his chest.
After that, Brydie moved like a cat and began to engage her mouth upon a part of his anatomy that Louisa had never imagined existed, not having seen a man in a state of undress before this moment.
She wanted to avert her eyes and, afterwards, she castigated herself repeatedly for not having done so. She was mesmerised by the act of love occurring on Mrs. McBryde’s bed. Louisa watched for some considerable time, unable to do much else and unable to fathom the scene being played out before her stunned gaze. She held her breath, scarcely daring to blink. Bill Bartlett moaned audibly and reached for his companion while pulling her closer to him and rolling over, thereby taking Brydie with him. And then, Louisa realised, he was laying on top now, with her beneath him. The mosquito diving persistently and noisily towards Louisa’s ear was not a sufficient distraction to cause her to lose her deep concentration.
Every move that the couple made was visible to her and emblazoned upon her memory forever. She had not thought that two people, who were so much older than herself, would be capable of such agility of movement as she was witnessing at this point in time. As the final moment was reached, Louisa was stretching slightly on the branch while positioning herself more securely, when she lost her balance momentarily and almost fell to the ground. It was with great presence of mind that she was able to grasp the trunk, thus preventing her fall and, worse still, bringing attention to herself at this inopportune moment.
Eventually, with activities at an end, the lamp was extinguished and she found herself to be trembling so much that the branch, upon which she was perched began to shake slightly. She had no explanation for this occurrence, or for the sight that she had witnessed. Finally, when all was quiet within the bedroom and she could bring herself to move and stretch her limbs to relieve the numbness therein, she dropped as stealthily and as silently as a cat to the ground.
Collecting her wits finally, Louisa ran as fast as she possibly could away from the building, with all its hidden secrets, and she gained the safety and security of her own darkened bedroom. There, she sat on the bed for at least an hour, trying to comprehend the meaning of the event that she had witnessed. Finally, without arriving at a satisfactory explanation, she undressed and crawled under the covers. Still, it was a long time before sleep came to her that night.
Louisa slept soundly and arose at dawn. She extracted a bundle of clothing from its hiding place behind the wardrobe; then quickly, she slipped into the pair of boy’s breeches and an old shirt. These articles of clothing she had procured after much begging and pleading from her friend, James Marshall, at the vicarage in Echuca. They had belonged to one of his younger brothers. Dressing quickly, she rolled the legs of the breeches to just below her knees and tucked the shirt into the breeches while tying them with a length of cord at her slim waist. Hurriedly, she bundled her hair on top of her head. She tied it and tucked it beneath an old straw hat.
Barefoot, Louisa crept to the dining room. She peered into the semi-darkness to be certain the room was unoccupied. As she did so, Mrs. McBryde entered. She was carrying a tray with crockery and cutlery on it. Louisa watched as she placed it on top of the sideboard. She was dressed in her usual heavy grey gown, buttoned to the neck, and she wore a cap on her head, which covered most of her beautiful hair tied beneath it. Louisa, from her vantage point, caught her breath quickly as she recalled the scene that she had witnessed during the previous evening. She shook her head in disbelief and wondering how this could be the same lady who had been on the bed with Captain Bartlett.
When Mrs. McBryde left the room, Louisa slipped in and she left her sealed letter for Aunt Sophie on the table. She hoped that Mr. Lyndhurst would be given the letter and that life would return to normal with his departure on the Charmaine later in the morning.
Quietly, she slipped from the house and found Ben waiting for her at the stables. Neither one bothered to saddle the horses. Louisa rode astride her beloved stallion, Hilton, while Ben rode her mother’s mare, Cadence. As they had done often on other occasions when the Charmaine was on a visit, they set off at a brisk pace. As always, they raced through the paddocks, along the shallow creek bed and jumped the fences with ease while following the track that they took whenever these unexpected adventures presented themselves. With the horses exhausted, the two riders returned to the riverbank.
Louisa knew that Ben loved these times with her and the horses. He would entertain her with stories about his childhood on his family’s farm where he was raised. Sprawled side-by-side on the grass while gazing up at the cloudless blue sky, they chatted and joked with each other as they enjoyed the peace and tranquillity of the mighty Murray River. Nearby, the horses grazed beneath the shade of a large eucalyptus tree. While Ben loved his life on the Charmaine and the way of life of the riverboat men, Louisa knew that he was homesick at times for his family.
They stayed there talking for some considerable time before mounting and heading back to the homestead for breakfast, after which the paddle-steamer was due to depart on her return journey to Echuca. As the homestead came into sight, they gave their horses free rein. Neck and neck, they raced together across the last paddock; then, as always, they headed for the last fence, which adjoined the stable yard.
Together, they cleared it. Too late, they saw the figure of the man who walked from the stables and straight into the path of the airborne horses. He did not appear to see them until the last moment.
“Look out!” shouted Louisa.
Hurriedly, and somewhat panic-stricken, he turned and jumped clear while rolling sideways as he hit the ground. Then, his body remained motionless. Instantly, Louisa turned her body, with her heart pounding as she peered through the dust disturbed by flying hooves.
Aghast, Louisa and Ben wheeled the horses around and rode back to the man, who was moving extremely slowly and attempting to raise his body from the ground. As Louisa jumped from Hilton’s back and ran to him, Charles Lyndhurst eased himself into an upright sitting position on the ground. Finally, he lifted himself very gingerly into a standing position. His face was ashen beneath the brown dust that covered much of it. He adjusted and then dusted his clothing while attempting to maintain a regal air as he did so and his hair tumbled onto his forehead. He lifted his right hand and brushed it back a little before peering at the two culprits who, almost, had caused his demise.
Ben, astride Cadence and holding Hilton’s rein, stared apprehensively down at the dust-covered gentleman. Charles Lyndhurst glared up at him before focussing his full attention upon Louisa who stood before him and who was showing obvious concern for his welfare. Charles, shaken and somewhat speechless, extracted a handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to wipe his face and brow.
“Mr. Lyndhurst! Are you hurt? Can you walk? Please . . . speak to me!” Louisa enquired anxiously.
He stared at her in astonishment for a few moments; then, as recognition dawned, his eyes travelled over her, carefully studying the dusty, male attire, which outlined every part of her young body. The auburn hair hung loosely at her neck, still tied behind by the ribbon, but the old straw hat was long gone, while her dusty bare feet were on display for all to see.
“Miss Howard!” he gasped.
Louisa was acutely aware, suddenly, of her appearance and she squirmed a little under his close scrutiny. Her father had forbidden her to wear these raiments. In fact, he had ordered her to destroy them.
“Ben, see to the horses!” Louisa instructed firmly.
Ben, eager to leave the scene of the crime, tugged at Hilton’s rein and retreated hastily to the safety of the stables.
“I am so sorry. We didn’t expect anyone to be here so early,” she said.
Louisa’s words were spoken contritely, because she was concerned – genuinely concerned – for his welfare, not to mention her own, should her father hear of her exploits.
“Obviously,” came the curt and only reply.
Charles continued to brush his clothing with his hand. His anger was ill-concealed. Then, his ashen countenance took on a different colour tone and one that was more associated with rage.
“You’re a danger to yourself, as well as to others!” he exploded.
“I must return before Papa sees . . . that is, before breakfast.” Louisa mumbled, while averting her eyes from his constant gaze.
Looking anxiously in the direction of the homestead, Louisa, eager to escape the scene of this near-disaster before her father appeared, became somewhat agitated.
“Does your father approve of this?”
“Of what?” Louisa asked in innocence.
“Oh! Come, Miss Howard, don’t play the innocent with me . . . this attire, for instance?” he countered, with a wave of his hand in a motion that encompassed her entire body; then, elaborating further. “And the crazed manner, in which you ride the horses, not to mention the type of company you keep.”
“Ben! Do you mean Ben? What’s wrong with him?” she asked angrily.
“He’s a male . . . that’s sufficient! Have the two of you been out all night . . . together?”
“All night? Of course not. Why would we ride at night? That’s completely absurd!”
He seemed about to retort; then, he changed his mind as Louisa turned from him and she moved toward the track leading back to the homestead. He followed her as they walked in single-file and in silence, both still seething from the encounter and still reeling from the near-fatal occurrence, which had been averted in but a split-second. As they approached some bushes that opened to a clearing, Louisa stopped to survey the area before daring to cross the open terrain at the rear of the house. Charles stopped beside her. His anger appeared to have abated somewhat during the trek from the stables to the homestead.
“Miss Howard, have you any notion as to the real purpose behind my visit to your home?” he queried quietly, before explaining. “We’ve not had a chance to speak privately before now.”
“I presume to see Papa on business. We are neighbours now, aren’t we? That was my understanding,” she replied, in a distracted manner.
Louisa was watching anxiously for signs of life on the homestead verandah. Suddenly, her worst fears were realised when the form of George Howard appeared on the side verandah and, worse still, he was pacing. That did not augur well for her first encounter with him this morning.
“Oh! No! He’s on the verandah. Would you talk with him, please, Mr. Lyndhurst? Distract Papa for me until I get safely inside. He mustn’t see me in this state. He gets upset.”
“I don’t wonder!” he exclaimed.
Louisa turned two large, green, pleading eyes upon him and his anger appeared to ease a little more while turning instead to slight amusement, although he seemed visibly shaken still by his ordeal. However, his reply was delivered in a stern tone.
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. What time did you leave the house?” Charles queried.
“If that’s what you wish, though I fail to see how it is relevant.”
She answered him with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders and with her gaze returning to watch her father’s every movement on the verandah as he paced back and forth.
“We left at dawn, rode across the paddocks for awhile and, when the horses were spent, we rested them; then, we sat by the river and talked. I can’t quite comprehend your interest in this matter, but if that’s all you need to know, would you go to him now, please?”
“You were swimming, no doubt?” Charles asked.
She blushed involuntarily and looked quickly up at him, with her eyes wide with surprise and alarm.
“Swimming? No, of course not . . . and at this hour of the morning? Besides, Ben couldn’t swim to save his life; then, I’d have to rescue him. The whole suggestion is ludicrous.”
Two wide, innocent eyes met two very suspicious ones. Finally, Charles grimaced slightly and glanced toward the verandah while watching George Howard as he leaned on the rail and studied the river.
“How old is your friend?” Charles inquired.
“Ben? Almost fifteen. Why?”
Louisa replied in a distracted tone. Then, becoming increasingly concerned at her father’s impatience, she looked pleadingly at her father’s guest as George Howard stopped pacing and began to drum his fingers on the rail, with his eyes scanning the river bank for his wayward daughter.
“And what precisely is your age?”
“Me? I’m much older and much more sensible. After all, I am almost seventeen!”
“You’re only sixteen!” he exclaimed, almost shouting the words.
“Please, Mr. Lyndhurst, can we continue this at a later time, as Papa’s becoming impatient and he’ll come looking for me soon; then, he’ll get upset. That’s when his illness appears to worsen. He mustn’t see me!”
Charles surveyed her sternly for a moment, and appearing to relent, he sought to alleviate her fears.
“Give me two minutes and then make good your escape, although I don’t see why I should assist you, bearing in mind that you almost killed me less than ten minutes ago. However, against my better judgement, I shall endeavour to engage your father in conversation; so rest assured, your secret will be safe with me.”
“Oh! Thank you,” Louisa muttered, with relief sounding in her voice; then, almost as an afterthought, she added, somewhat sheepishly. “Truly, I’m really sorry about your tumble.”
“Tumble! Tumble? Is that what you call my near-miss with death beneath the hooves of two flying horses?” Charles Lyndhurst exclaimed, before asking. “You do realise you parted the hair on my head? That’s how close you came to me.”
As he moved from her, he gave a slight smile and, under his breath, she heard him mumble the words “tumble, indeed!”
Louisa watched him closely as he walked toward the homestead. She had thought him to be quite old but, when he smiled, his face softened and he appeared younger than she had supposed at their first meeting.
“You do appreciate you’ll be in my debt forever, Louisa Howard!”
“Hush!” Louisa whispered, quickly and almost frantically.
Louisa waited until her father was deep in conversation with Charles Lyndhurst. Then, as quietly and as swiftly as a cat, she sneaked across the clearing and crept through an open window at the rear of the homestead. Once inside, she ran to the safety of her bedroom.
It was an immaculately and correctly attired Louisa Howard who stared innocently back at Charles Lyndhurst during breakfast. George Howard appeared pleased indeed with his daughter’s appearance, politeness and demure manner on this bright spring morning as she engaged Charles Lyndhurst in lively conversation, much to that gentleman’s amusement. George Howard had difficulty in hiding his delight at this turn of events after the difficulties of the previous evening. He complimented Louisa on her thoughtfulness in writing to his sister, Sophie Collins, and the letter was duly given to Charles for delivery.
The parlour maid, Betsy, served their breakfast. Of Mrs. McBryde there was no sign. This was a blessing, for Louisa did not know if she would be capable of looking that lady directly in the eye this morning, or any other morning, for that matter.
After breakfast, George remained on the verandah, after having farewelled their guest. He insisted that Louisa accompany Mr. Lyndhurst to the paddle-steamer. As they walked together along the path toward the pontoon, Charles took her arm while stopping close by her on the narrow pathway. Louisa looked up at him in surprise, as he seemed to be struggling to come to a decision.
“Are you totally ignorant of the real reason for my visit, Miss Howard? And, if not, then what is your honest response?”
“I’m not certain I understand you. If Papa is thinking of selling our home to your father, then I’ll move heaven and earth to prevent it, I promise you that!”
“That has no bearing on the matter and has never been discussed. He hasn’t spoken to you then, obviously. I would suggest to you most strongly that you engage in a lengthy discussion with your father as a matter of urgency. Goodbye.”
Hurriedly, he moved by her. Puzzled, Louisa remained on the path while watching the disappearing figure of Charles Lyndhurst as he boarded the steamer. Ben was on deck and he gave Louisa a quick wave before disappearing hurriedly on sighting the figure of Charles Lyndhurst coming towards him.
When Captain Bill appeared by her side, she was startled, as she had not heard him approaching from the direction of the kitchen. She felt the telltale redness on her face as she realised, not without reason that she was blushing beneath his gaze, although fortunately, he was unaware of the cause of her embarrassment
“How’s the loveliest lass on my river on this bright, sunny spring morn?” he teased, while tugging on a lock of her hair; then, as he moved by her on the path, he spoke again. “See you next week, Lou. Look after your Papa!”
“Yes,” Louisa managed to murmur, while not being able to look directly at him and averting her gaze as she replied. “Yes, of course I will, Captain Bill.”
When the Charmaine departed a little later, Louisa breathed a sigh of relief. Charles Lyndhurst had left forever while taking her secret with him, as he was true to his word and he did not divulge to her father any details of the morning’s near-tragic events that took place in the stable yard. She forgot all about Charles’ suggestion with regard to her having a discussion about his visit with her father. He had gone and life returned to normal at the Howard homestead on the banks of the Murray River, north-west of Melbourne.
A narrative that fluctuates between a current incident and a reflection on the 1800’s poses an interesting question about history’s role in shaping the present. Any look backwards, study, or examination can lead to insights and clues as to why things are the way they are. It also asks deeper questions about progress, especially in this novel where it revolves mostly around social commentary that is far from nostalgia about women’s roles in society. For many of the characters, Louisa in particular, seem consumed and ‘tortured’ by guilt and grief. The focus on appearances, politeness, and demure posturing is not altogether different from polite society at any point except that it doesn’t seem to move beyond it other than a scoffing at the idle chatter and pointlessness of a Ladies finishing school. A general sense of prickly relationships and lives not lived to the fullest is more a portrayal of the mundane and idleness to which most of the narrative details. The more serious issue of forced and coerced marriage and the role of violence to which Louisa is told that he owns her as property is set amidst her fiery, passionate, and “vile temper”. The book raises an interesting question as to how sympathetic a character Louisa is despite an overall oppressive societal construct. It presents an inevitable situation in many ways, and while a victim, she also fails to triumph in spirit, connecting meaningfully to others other than to her ailing father, or make any profound realizations or expressions other than through repetition over her disdain for her predicaments. The premise is an important one, but reads like an 1800’s book that is too long for most modern readers where it could probably as effectively be conveyed condensed down by at least a half. The past intruding and interrupting the present is a provocative theme and one for the author to build upon in her next book in the series.