Laura Martin - Her Rags-To-Riches Christmas

‘They’re like the brothers I never had. Friendship is a wonderful thing...’ He paused, looking at her in that perceptive way of his. ‘I’m sure you’ve found that during your time in Australia.’

Alice looked away, blinking to try to disguise the tears in her eyes. There should have been comradeship between the female convicts, but it just wasn’t the case. Many of them had suffered atrociously on the transport ship and as soon as they’d arrived had set about looking for a man to protect them. Alice hadn’t wanted that and that had made her stand apart from the rest of the women.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘It hasn’t been like that.’

He regarded her for a moment and not for the first time Alice felt as though he was seeing past the hard exterior she projected to the world. The thought made her uncomfortable.

‘I should go and see if Mrs Peterson needs any help,’ she said quickly, rising to her feet and placing the baby kangaroo back in Mr Fitzgerald’s arms.

Hurrying off, she chided herself for being a coward. It was herself she was running from, the strange urge she had to relax, to allow herself to let down her guard when she was with Mr Fitzgerald. She didn’t know if it was the cheerful smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes or the kindness he’d shown her, but something made her heart beat faster whenever he accidentally brushed against her, even though his interest was the last thing she wanted. Shaking her head, she tried to put him out of her mind. She would do better to remember the trouble men had brought her in the past and continue in her mistrust, even if Mr Fitzgerald was relentlessly kind.

‘If you don’t hold your tongue, I will come over there and give you a thrashing, open wounds or no.’ Mrs Peterson’s irate voice rang through the house, causing George to pause and put down the papers he was reading. It had been almost a week since he’d returned home, a week since Alice had first stepped over the threshold into the farmhouse, and it had been far from the most peaceful week of his life.

He listened for Alice’s reply, hearing a low murmur, but not the words.

‘I’ve never heard such vile rudeness.’ Mrs Peterson’s voice rose again and with a groan George hauled himself to his feet. There was at least one altercation a day between Alice and his housekeeper. And even in between the sharp words there were long periods of sharp silence.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, striding into the kitchen.

‘She has got to go,’ Mrs Peterson said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and breathing heavily.

‘I’d be delighted to,’ Alice said, flashing a look that contained a challenge in his direction.

‘No one is going anywhere. Alice, join me in my study, please. Mrs Peterson...’ He looked at his fuming housekeeper and gave her his most winning smile. ‘Whatever you’ve got cooking smells delicious.’ It was the truth—wafts of spices and fruit, mixed with the unmistakable smell of gingerbread baking, took him back to the Christmases of his youth.

George turned, not waiting to see if Alice followed, and made his way back into his study, sitting down heavily in the comfortable leather-lined chair behind his desk.

‘Sit,’ he said, motioning to a chair facing him.

Alice sat, looking defiant.

‘I really don’t know how you do it,’ he said quietly. ‘Mrs Peterson can be a bit prickly, but I’ve never actually seen her angry before.’

Alice shrugged, a non-committal gesture that hid a world of pain.

‘I know what you’re doing.’

Her eyes darted up to meet his.

‘You think if you make a nuisance of yourself I’ll send you back to Sydney. The thing I can’t understand is why. It’s comfortable here, the work is easier than the laundry, you’re safe and you’re not under the direct scrutiny of the guards the whole time. Surely here is better than where you were?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Alice said, her voice emotionless.

‘Is there something you’re missing in Sydney? Or someone, perhaps?’

‘No.’ The denial was hard and fast and George was inclined to believe it.

‘I want you to be comfortable here, Alice.’

‘Why?’

‘Because everyone deserves a little humanity and I think you’ve experienced barely any at all these last couple of years.’

‘No one does something for nothing.’

He looked at her, feeling regret that such a young woman had been brought down to feel this way. Once Alice would have been trusting and content with the world—her attitude now was a testament to the suffering she had endured.

‘Let’s make an agreement,’ he said, waiting for her to look up to continue. ‘Give it one month. If you’re still not happy here in one month, then you can return to whatever post they will give you in Sydney. I’ll arrange it. I give you my word.’

She eyed him suspiciously.

‘The only thing I ask for is that you give life out here a chance. You look for the positives, stop riling Mrs Peterson and see if this is somewhere you would like to spend the last few years of your sentence.’

‘And if I decide not to stay, you’ll let me go?’ Alice asked.

‘On my honour.’

She sat thinking for a moment, then nodded. He even saw a hint of a smile under the prickly façade.

‘This is your home, at least for the next month, and if you decide you want to stay for a couple of years, I want you to be comfortable. And I want you to stop provoking Mrs Peterson. Can you do that?’

‘I can try.’

Pulling on the soft leather, George changed his boots for the pair he used when out riding the vast distances around his farms. It felt good to be home and he was eager to get out and continue reacquainting himself with the land he loved so much.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the swish of material as Alice padded silently around the house. He could tell she felt awkward, unsure of her position, but he hoped in a couple of days Mrs Peterson would have found her some work she could take charge of and make her own. There had been an uneasy truce between Alice and Mrs Peterson the last couple of days since he had taken Alice into his study and made the agreement that she would make an effort to see Mountain View Farm as her home for the month before they decided on the longer-term plan.

It felt strange to have another person in the house. For a long while before his trip to England it had been just him and the Petersons and it was odd to wake up and find someone else walking through the otherwise empty halls.

Throughout his childhood his parents had always had at least a few convict workers doing the manual work in the fields alongside the regular workers and the free-men they hired seasonally as the demands of the farm increased. Only once had they had a female convict worker. With a frown George put that memory from mind. He wasn’t his father, he wasn’t the same man and he didn’t have to make the same mistakes.

His parents had enjoyed living a life without too many servants, just a housekeeper and a cook and a maid, and he had happily survived with just the Petersons for the past eight years.

Still, Alice was here now and hopefully before long she would have slotted into life at Mountain View Farm.

As he stood up he saw Alice come walking out of his study with a book open and her eyes skimming over the words. For a second he felt his breath catch in his chest. Today for the first time she was dressed in a dress that more or less fit her. The light blue cotton clung to the curves of her chest and waist before skimming out over her hips into a full skirt. It accentuated her figure and George felt the first stirrings of desire. A very inappropriate desire.