Laura Martin - Her Rags-To-Riches Christmas

‘Look at me, Alice,’ George said, waiting for her eyes to reach his. Not for the first time he noticed their intensity, the deepness of the sparkling blue, and he realised she must have had it hard being a pretty young woman in a country filled with men. ‘Do I look like I need to force a woman into bed with me?’

As he watched her eyes flicked over him, taking in first his face and then his physique, until she shrugged rebelliously.

‘No one does anything for nothing,’ she muttered.

‘Yes, they do,’ he said firmly. ‘Now the problem arose when Mrs Peterson showed you to your room?’

She nodded. ‘There’s no lock on the door.’

‘And you thought that was so I could sneak in at the stroke of midnight and have my wicked way with you?’ He saw her redden at his directness and was pleased to be finally getting a reaction from her that wasn’t suspicion or anger. ‘Come with me.’

Without checking to see if she was following, he took the stairs two at a time, pausing only when he was outside the room Mrs Peterson had seen fit to give to Alice. It was a generously proportioned bedroom with a view over the farm and to Sydney in the distance. Furnished with a bed, wardrobe and writing table, it was homely and comfortable—no wonder Mrs Peterson took offence when Alice refused to settle herself in.

‘You’re right, there’s no lock,’ George said, ‘just as there isn’t a lock on my bedroom door, or any of the bedrooms. Not...’ he held up an admonishing hand ‘...that I’m inviting you to find out. I find a chair wedged under the handle like this...’ with a flourish he closed the door, took the back of the chair and propped it under the handle, demonstrating that the door could not be easily opened ‘...does the job.’

Alice was staring at him, blinking every few seconds as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

‘I understand you don’t trust me, Alice, and I don’t think anything I can say will reassure you that I didn’t bring you here for nefarious purposes, but my father always used to say that deeds spoke louder than words. Hopefully with time you will come to trust me.’ He paused, wondering exactly what had happened to the young woman in front of him to make her quite so distrustful. ‘Can I give you a word of advice, though? I wouldn’t say anything bad about me to Mrs Peterson. For some strange reason she thinks I’m more virtuous than all the saints combined. If you want to have a moan about me, find someone more neutral.’

He turned, resisting the urge to delve into Alice’s past. Perhaps one day she would want to tell him a little about what had brought her to this point in her life, or perhaps not.

‘Sorted?’ Crawford asked as George walked back into the room.

‘Who knows?’ George shrugged, wondering if Alice would be climbing out the window, risking being caught as a runaway just to avoid spending a night in his house.

‘Who is she?’ Robertson asked. ‘And what is she doing here?’

‘I ran into her when I got off the ship,’ George said, sitting back down with his friends. ‘One of the guards was whipping her, lashes that were far too brutal.’

Crawford grinned. ‘You saved her?’

George rubbed his jaw, remembering the punches he’d received when he’d refused to back down.

‘I politely asked them to desist with such a cruel and unnecessary punishment.’

‘How many were there?’

‘Five.’

Robertson studied his face carefully. ‘Looks like they got a couple of good punches in.’

‘I would have been tied to the post alongside Alice if Colonel Hardcastle hadn’t turned up.’

‘Our new Lieutenant Governor,’ Crawford murmured. George could hear the approval in his voice.

‘Hardcastle agreed to release Alice to me as a convict worker for the farm.’

George saw Robertson and Crawford exchanging looks and shook his head.

‘Just like one of your injured animals,’ Robertson said with a grin.

‘Neither of you would have left her there,’ George said with conviction. ‘Not to that brutality.’

‘It looks like you’re going to have your hands full,’ Crawford said.

He wasn’t wrong. George had imagined Alice slotting into the life on the farm, taking up her role as a housemaid, perhaps helping with the kitchen garden, but that seemed a long way off for now. He shrugged. If things didn’t work out, he could just send her to look after one of the properties he owned further afield. Whatever happened, he would be able to rest easy, knowing he hadn’t abandoned her in her hour of need.

Alice padded down the stairs, her footfalls silent on the thick rug that covered the wooden steps. Down below her she could hear the voices of the three men, laughing and talking as they had been for the past two hours. She’d made her peace with Mrs Peterson, apologising for her outburst and promising to keep her opinions to herself from now on. The older woman had been mollified and a few minutes later had brought Alice a few dresses to try on, clothing that fitted her better than the huge sack she’d travelled from Sydney in.

Now that she wasn’t in fear of her dress falling down to her ankles with every step, she was feeling curious about her surroundings and had decided to explore a little. It wasn’t as though Mr Fitzgerald had instructed her to keep to her room and Mrs Peterson had told her to take a few days to get settled before she started on the work of a housemaid.

Quietly she made her way down the hall, feeling like a thief as she trailed her fingers over the polished furniture and the collection of ornaments that seemed out of place out here in the middle of the Australian countryside. They would look more at home in an English manor house.

The kitchen was at the end of the hallway, a large room that still managed to feel homely despite its size. At one end the door was open to the outside and Alice looked around guiltily before placing her foot over the threshold.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ she muttered to herself. ‘It’s not as though you’re running away.’

Running away would be the worst thing she could do. Although she felt uncomfortable with her new circumstances, she knew she would be so much worse off if she was branded a convict runaway. She’d never known another convict woman who had dared. The men who tried to gain their freedom by heading off into the wilds of the countryside were always caught and brought back, their punishments ranging from a hundred lashes to being shipped off to one of the other penal colonies in Australia. Somewhere disease-ridden and much less civilised than Sydney. She shuddered at the thought.

Outside the sun was so bright it made her blink rapidly as her eyes struggled to adjust and the heat was much more noticeable than in the cool of the house. Over to the left was a little kitchen garden, with a vegetable patch and plants climbing up stakes. She could see Mr Peterson’s bent form as he worked at picking whichever of the vegetables flourished in this climate.

To the right was a large enclosure with twenty or so cows huddled up one end and a little further away were horses grazing on the patchy grass behind a sturdy fence. With a hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Alice stopped for a moment and properly appreciated the view. Nine months she’d been in Australia and all she’d seen up until now was Sydney. The ramshackle buildings, the dusty streets, the weary faces. Out here was different. Out here she could see why some people seemed to fall in love with this country.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ a low voice said beside her.