A Wicked Deception (6 page)

“What happened?” She went over to him, and gently fingered an ugly welt on his cheek.

“Ogilvy took a riding crop to me. Bastard, I ought to kill him.” He made no apology for the oath as he forked his fingers angrily through his hair.

“I caused all of this
. If only I hadn’t slapped him,” she railed against herself. “Couldn’t you complain to the commissioner?”

“He wouldn’t take any notice. We’re diggers, aren’t we? Means we’re second-rate citizens,” Robbie raged. “We
ought to burn his place to the ground and him with it.”

“Wild talk like that could get you into a heap of trouble, son.” Alex’s appearance calmed the situation. “I have a bottle of whisky here somewhere, we all need a drink.” Rummaging in a trunk
, he found a full bottle and drew it out with a flourish.

Melanie watched him pour some into three mugs. He did not offer her any, thankfully. The horrible stuff would have made her sick.

“Down with the police.” Robbie’s toast drowned out his father’s wish of good health for them all.

She watched the men as they drank. James took his almost in the first swallow. He rarely drank, so he must be really upset and angry. Robbie drank his quickly, grimacing behind his father’s back, while Uncle Alex sipped slowly, thoughtfully.

“Shall I serve our meal?” she asked.

When the men nodded
, she set the food out, bread, cheese and meat. They ate without speaking. As soon as they finished eating, they prepared to leave. She would ride Robbie’s horse, while James rode his own.

“Hope no one stole your horse.”
She glanced worriedly at her brother. “I forgot to check on it before.”

“No digger would steal a man’s horse. Can’t say the same for the
police though,” Robbie sneered.

“Goodnight Uncle Alex, Robbie,” she said
and James lifted one hand in a farewell salute. They made for a grassed area not far from the tent. James helped her mount and they set off without speaking. Melanie glanced over her shoulder as they rode away. The hundreds of small fires flickering in the darkness gave the area a haunting beauty.

“That young hot-head is asking for trouble,” James announced suddenly.

“Robbie?”

“Who else? He wanted to confront the
commissioner. I had to drag him away. He’ll end up in jail for sure, us with him probably.”

Melanie told him about going to Guilford Lodge.

“You should have seen the Johnsons.” James gave an angry snort. “My sister is not a servant.”

“Rubbish
. You call Michael snobbish, what about you? I don’t mind, it’s only for a short time until a new maid comes up from Melbourne.”

“Very well
.” He gave in ungraciously. “I suppose they’ll expect you to sleep over there?”

“I suppose so. If you really don’t want me to go, I won’t.”

“No, Mel, I’m acting like a pig. It will do you good mixing with other young people.”

She laughed. “I’m going over there to work, not have a holiday.”

“I don’t think the Honorable Michael will make you work too hard. He always did have a soft spot for you.”

If only he knew Priscilla had taken charge of the domestic arrangements. She would not make life easy, but Melanie
vowed to cope with anything the uppity Lady Priscilla dished out.

“I’ve got a chance to go on a cattle drive for a few days, so I might take it now I know you’ll be taken care of.”
He stroked his whiskers. “We could do with the money.”

Chapter
Three

Melanie wa
tched a wagon, drawn by a team of horses, pull up at the front of the homestead. This must be her conveyance to Guilford Lodge. A man in rough working garb climbed down and stomped towards her.

“You for
Guilford Lodge, Miss?”

“Yes.”
A supply wagon, loaded with bags of flour, sugar and other supplies from town was going to be her conveyance? How humiliating. Priscilla’s way of emphasizing her lowly status?

Her sprigged muslin frock with the matching bonnet
looked completely out of place. She should have been wearing sensible serge or cheap calico. She couldn’t suppress a laugh, and the driver gave her a long, speculative stare as he helped her up on the wagon seat and tossed her bag into the back. The next couple of weeks could prove interesting.

She didn’t know the man
. His brown full beard, and what she could see of his hair poking out from under his hat, was heavily sprinkled with grey.

“Have you been working at Guilford Lodge long?”

“Three months,” he grunted.

Glancing at him from under her lashes, she decided he was a surly, unpleasant type.

On such a fine sunny day she enjoyed the ride, even if it proved bumpy. The breeze, laden with the scent of wild flowers and eucalypts, fanned her face. Spring seemed to be lasting longer this year, although in a short time the wild flowers would wither and die under the searing Australian sun.

A glance at one of the huge eucalypts lining the track showed a koala sleepily munching leaves. Brightly
colored parrots flew overhead squawking noisily to each other, while the wild bees buzzed through the flowers searching for nectar.

Guilford
Lodge. It always gave her a thrill driving through the rows of English oaks and elms lining the drive. The homestead rested mellow and serene in the afternoon sun. As a young girl she used to dream of living here. Now she didn’t care where she lived, as long as she could be with Robbie.

They pulled up out the back
. The man helped her down, dumped her bag on the ground, and disappeared towards one of the storerooms without saying a word. What an utter pig.

Picking up her bag
, she stepped through an archway covered with wisteria. The perfume of the pendulous purple flowers wafted sweetly on the air. The flagged courtyard had not altered in the three years Michael had been away. In fact, nothing seemed to have changed over much. Once, she used to wander through each of the twenty rooms, including the separate quarters set aside for the house servants, but that was when she had been a welcome guest, not a mere employee.

F
ingers tingling with nerves, she tapped on the back door.

A
granite-faced middle-aged woman answered her knock. She was thin as a bean pole. “I’m Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper. You answer to me. Come along, girl, there’s no time to waste.”

She followed the woman into the kitchen where a baker’s oven and a white hearth took up most of one wall. Not a speck of dirt
raised its ugly head on the flagged floor and the hobs of the fireplace gleamed.

A young girl s
at at a scrubbed wooden table peeling potatoes. She eyed Melanie with curiosity.

“Annie, this is Melanie O’Dea, your assistant.”

Melanie hated the way the housekeeper emphasized ‘your assistant.’

“Well, girl,
don’t dither. Help Annie with the vegetables.”

“What about my belongings?” Her bag still sat near the kitchen door.

“Your quarters are in the cellar.”

“Cellar! I thought house servants used those cottages across the courtyard.”

“Special accommodation has been arranged for you,” the woman snapped.

“I’d like to change my clothes first.” She tossed her head back proudly, her eyes never wavering
from Mrs. Smith’s granite face.

“Very well, but hurry up about it.”

Annie threw her a shy
smile behind the housekeeper’s back.

“Through that door and down the stairs,”
Mrs. Smith growled, stabbing the air with her bony forefinger.

Picking up her bag, Melanie forced herself to
saunter, head held high, across the kitchen to the doorway leading downstairs. The cellar ran the whole length of the house.

Bluestone
steps led downwards. Candlesticks fixed to the stone walls on either side would stop the room from being pitch black at night. At the bottom of the steps she came upon a large storage area partitioned off with split logs.

A single bed with two
brown work blankets had been provided, but no linen. A reed mat, a chest of drawers with a chipped jug, and a tin basin were the only other things in the room. No provision had been made for her to even hang up her clothes.

Dust covered the floor and a damp musty odor prevailed. Rage surged through her. It took all her willpower not to resign on the spot and rush back to the safety of home. She owed Michael five pounds and would work off the debt or die in the attempt.

Obviously Priscilla’s doing
. Poor Michael intended marrying this spoilt, vindictive woman because she came from a wealthy, titled family. How could he?

She took off her bonnet before slipping out of the gown and draping it across the bed. Later, she would have to rig up a line so her clothes could hang properly. Putting on a blue skirt with a matching top, she glanced at herself in the
fly specked mirror and pulled a face.

If James ever found out about this treatment he would be furious, but Robbie would come charging over intent on retribution. It wasn’t Michael’s fault
. He would never do such a spiteful thing, but it hurt that he didn’t care enough to check on her comfort.

She could complain, demand better quarters, but pride held her back. Priscilla, probably realizing this, felt confident her vindictiveness would not be discovered
. She probably wants me to cringe and grovel to get better treatment, but I’d die before giving her the satisfaction. They can string me up naked and flog me to death and I still wouldn’t plead for mercy
, she squashed down the note of hysteria rising in her throat by taking several deep breaths. Closed-in dark places had always frightened her, and this dungeon sent icy prickles along her spine.

Back in the kitchen, she put on a white apron before sitting down to help prepare the vegetables that were to go with the roast suckling pig. Under
Mrs. Smith’s eagle eye, she peeled and cut potatoes, while the smell of the pork roasting in the oven made her mouth water. She could kill for a cup of tea but none was offered. Of course, kitchen lackeys should expect no consideration.

They didn’t speak
in the housekeeper’s presence, but once she departed, Annie, a girl of about twelve or thirteen, smiled shyly. “Mrs. Smith doesn’t like you.”

“I know
,” Melanie grimaced. “I don’t like her much, either. Have you worked here long?”

“A few months
. My father is one of the grooms. Mr. Guilford keeps a large stable.”

“Yes. I mean, I heard he did.” Better not to let anyone know she had once been an honored guest here, in what seemed like another lifetime. “Are there many other house servants?”

The girl nodded. “Lady Priscilla has her own personal maid, brought her all the way from England. Mrs. Knightsbridge, her chaperone, hardly ever leaves her room. I’ve only seen her once when they first arrived. Maggie, who sets up the tables and serves the food, is married to Mr. Guilford’s valet. She’s sick at the moment, so Juliet, Lady Priscilla’s maid, is doing things. There are some other housemaids, but I don’t see much of them.”

“Do you like it here?” Both girls kept working as they spoke.

“I liked it better when Mrs. McMurray was housekeeper.” Melanie nearly opened her mouth to say she liked Mrs. McMurray as well, but stopped herself.

“Has the new maid arrived yet?” A young woman swept into the kitchen wearing a black frock covered by a white lace apron. A frilly white cap perched on her dark curls.

“Yes, I’ve arrived. I’m Melanie O’Dea. Are you Juliet?”

“Yes.”

“Did your mistress send you?”

“Lady Priscilla? Mercy no
, I wanted to see what you looked like. Thought you must have been a real witch the way she described you.”

“What are you doing gossiping in my kitchen?”
Mrs. Smith minced in.

“Just going, ma’am.” Behind the housekeeper’s back Juliet poked out her tongue, and Melanie stifled a giggle.

“Bring in some more water,” Mrs. Smith ordered. “The well is near the kitchen door.”

Rising to her feet, Melanie picked up
a bucket in either hand and traipsed out to the well. Fortunately, it had a pump. The old dragon would have been quite happy for her to climb down into the well itself to bring up the water. If she happened to fall in and drown, so much the better.

She carried the buckets back inside, then watched as
Mrs. Smith laid the perfectly cooked pork on a silver meat tray and covered it with a matching lid. She then placed the vegetables into bone china dishes with gilded flower lids.

Juliet
returned within a few seconds. “You can help me carry in some of this, Lady Priscilla’s orders. There aren’t enough servants here at the moment.” She gave a tight smile. “Just the Master and Mistress for dinner tonight, Mrs. Knightsbridge is having a tray in her room.” She had a quick breathy way of speaking. “There’s a party of guests coming over tomorrow. The men are going kangaroo hunting, so you’ll be needed to help me serve on the tables for the evening meal. Tonight can be good practice for you.”

Melanie rose to her feet.
It would be interesting to see what Michael said when he saw her.

“
You place the food on the table and leave,” Juliet instructed.

“Are they going to use the small salon tonight?”

“No, Lady Priscilla always insists on the main dining room being used. It makes more work but….” Juliet shrugged with something akin to resignation.

The dishes of food were
set out on a serving trolley. “We leave the trolley outside the room and serve from a side table,” Juliet explained.

Melanie patted her hair to make sure it sat neatly before venturing into a hallway that led to the main dining room.

Michael and Priscilla sat at a table set with gleaming armorial silverware. Priscilla wore a low cut gown of pale pink taffeta, showing off her creamy shoulders to perfection. Once again, her dark curls had been beautifully coiffured. Diamonds twinkled at her throat and wrists, but her fingers were bare of any adornment. Probably waiting for Michael to put some family heirloom on her left hand, Melanie surmised.

Michael wore a dark jacket trimmed with velvet at the collar and cuffs, and a ruffle fronted shirt.
“Good evening, Melanie.”

She ignored Juliet’s surprised gasp.
“Good evening, Sir.”

His mouth tightened as
if he made to speak, but suddenly thought better of it.

“That will be all
. Juliet can serve.” Priscilla waved her dismissal.

Melanie nearly
told the Englishwoman what she thought of such high-handed arrogance. She bit her lip to stop the angry words spilling out of her mouth. Her gaze locked with Michael’s momentarily. Her feelings must be obvious to him, and she saw his lips twitch, as if he enjoyed watching her frustrated anger.

In the past she had been hot tempered. He had been on the receiving end of her fury on many occasions, so he would know what a battle she had controlling herself. The wretch actually thought it funny. With her head held high she marched through the door and into the hallway. The temptation to kick the food trolley on the way past was
overwhelming.

Back in the kitchen,
Melanie started stacking up the pots and pans, all the while watching Mrs. Smith putting the finishing touches to the trifles. The woman could certainly cook. Annie sat folding up table linen. She hadn’t seen such pristine whiteness or delicate embroidery since she was last here.

“When do we eat?” Her stomach
growled with hunger.

Mrs.
Smith ignored her question. “You can help clear the table. Remember they’re gentry, so the plates are collected one at a time.”

This woman did not like her and made no effort to hide it. Even though they had never met each other before, Priscilla must have given instructions for her to be humiliated and treated harshly. It was the only explanation she could come up with.

A red-faced Juliet swept into the kitchen. “Lady Priscilla says the gravy had lumps in it.”

“You made the gravy.
” Mrs. Smith swung around to Melanie. The woman’s face had taken on an ugly puce color.

“I never touched the gravy.” Ignoring Annie’s warning
frown Melanie fought back, but stopped herself from actually calling Mrs. Smith a liar.