Destiny's Path (9 page)

Kathleen watched him discussing their needs with a lad who’d approached with a handcart. He nodded and smiled at the lad, who left the two men loading luggage on to the handcart and ran off to find more help. Ronan Maguire would smile at anyone, she thought sourly.

She was trying not to let her shock show, because she’d found out when she was smaller that it was dangerous to let your feelings show to people of your own class. Servants didn’t matter and convicts certainly didn’t matter. But sometimes her feelings escaped her, try as she would to hold them back, especially when she was angry.

If she’d known what it was like here, how small and uncivilised a place it was, she’d not have come, whatever she had to put up with back in Ireland as the wife of a convict. But she was here now, and without Mrs Maguire, so had to rely on Ronan, of all people, to help her. She hated him because he’d helped her husband when he’d been transported. If he hadn’t, maybe Conn would have died and good riddance to him.

Well, just let her husband try to lay one finger on her! She’d keep her distance from him. Surely Mrs Largan must be tired now of living in such an uncivilised place? Surely she was missing Ireland? And surely if Kathleen was living with her, people would speak to her and invite her to their houses again, as they had when she was living with Mr Largan?

As she followed the procession of four handcarts up a sandy street, Kathleen passed buildings of all types, from cottages of unpainted wooden boards, to small brick houses. None of them was suitable for a lady to live in. And none of them could hold a candle to Shilmara.

Tears came into her eyes at the thought of her old home. She was no longer welcome there since James Largan’s death, but she still dreamed about it. She’d loved the house on first sight, had been so happy to be away from her mother. She hadn’t thought she’d have to leave it – or James, who had been so kind to her, so loving. No one had ever loved her as he did. She’d not been frightened of him, as she had of Conn.

She’d had to leave her horses too, though Kieran had promised to look after them and see they were properly exercised. She couldn’t wait to get back and go riding again.

All it needed now, she thought angrily, was to find that Mrs Largan was also dead and this long, horrible journey in vain. If that was so, she didn’t know what she’d do with herself. She wasn’t going to live permanently with Conn, never that.

But where could she go back to? What could she do with her life when no one would even speak to her once they found out her husband was a convict?

She realised everyone had stopped moving, so paused to look at the building to which the lads had brought them. It was another colonial hovel, a rambling, two-storey structure made of wood, with a sagging veranda on each level.

‘Is there nothing better than this?’ she asked Ronan.

‘Apparently not. It’ll do for one night, surely?’

When they were shown to their rooms, she pointed out to the owner that the floor needed sweeping. He rolled his eyes but sent up a skinny maid with a broom, who proceeded to whisk it round, making little difference to the corners or the dust and light sprinkling of sand under the beds. Once again, she’d have to share the room with her maid.

‘I’ll unpack your nightclothes and a towel, shall I, Mrs Kathleen?’ Orla asked quietly. ‘They said they’d send up some hot water when we needed it.’

‘Yes. All right.’ Feeling exhausted and miserable, Kathleen sat down on the narrow bed for a moment, closing her eyes to shut everything out.

Conn had better agree to let his mother come back to England with her, or she’d be driven to desperation, and she never knew what she’d do when her temper took over. She’d been trained in self-control by a very strict governess and a strap wielded with all her mother’s strength, but even so she sometimes couldn’t help letting go of her temper and lashing out at the world.

She couldn’t cry herself to sleep with a maid in the same room, wouldn’t demean herself. But she ached to weep.

How long would this nightmare continue? she wondered. How long could she cope on her own? She’d never had to do that before. There had always been someone to tell her what to do.

There was only Conn left now to turn to. Oh, how she wished she’d never come!

In the morning Ronan and Bram went out to make enquiries about getting transport to where Conn lived. They found it was over a day’s journey south of Perth so ended up hiring two men and two carts, which would take them first to the south bank of the River Swan, where they’d stay overnight at an inn the men knew, then on to Conn’s homestead, as the men called it, a journey of three days in all, probably, ‘barring accidents’.

‘What sort of accidents?’ Ronan asked.

‘Could lose a wheel or break an axle but we don’t do that as often nowadays because the roads have been improved. They aren’t bad that way, what with the mail going down from Perth to Albany in the south. It’s a made road, you see, that one, which means the convicts worked on clearing it properly, so it doesn’t have to wind its way round obstacles like big trees.’ He grinned. ‘But it’s still just a dirt track, when all’s said and done.’

‘Where shall we stay the second night?’

‘We’ll see if we can find a farm or else we’ll have to sleep in the wagons.’

Ronan almost laughed to see the indignation on Kathleen’s face, but managed to hold back his amusement, because he didn’t want to upset her. She was difficult enough without that.

A moment or two later she pulled him aside. ‘Can you make no better arrangements than these for my travel?’

He noticed she only said ‘my’. It was as if she lived in a world of her own and couldn’t see other people’s needs or feelings. ‘No, I can’t make better arrangements. I did ask around in Fremantle and these men were highly recommended for their reliability.’

‘They’re impudent wretches!’

‘The lower classes are different here, Kathleen. Haven’t you noticed that? Freer, more independent.’

‘They don’t know their place and should be soundly whipped. As for the Swan River Colony, it’s not what
I
would call civilised at all.’

‘They’d not send convicts somewhere civilised, now would they?’

Her face tightened and she turned away.

A short time later he saw her slap Orla, taking out her temper on the poor maid. He didn’t feel he could intervene, but the sight of the lass’s reddened cheek made him feel angry and he could see that Bram felt the same way. He felt desperately sorry for poor Conn, who’d said in one of his letters that getting free of his wife was the biggest benefit of being transported.

What a shock her arrival was going to be for his friend!

What would Conn do with the woman? He’d found it hard enough to live with her before in a large house. From what he’d said in his letters, his Australian home was more like a farmhouse, so they’d not be able to live separate lives here.

Maia was talking to Mrs Largan on the veranda when she saw two carts turn off the track that passed their house. A woman was sitting bolt upright in the back of one, scowling at the world.

‘Oh, dear God, it can’t be! It is!’ Mrs Largan clutched her chest. ‘Go and warn Conn quickly. That’s his wife. What in heaven’s name is Kathleen doing here?’

Maia gaped at the cart.
Wife? Conn’s wife was here?

‘Hurry!’

She ran into the house, calling for Xanthe and explaining breathlessly what Mrs Largan had said, then went rushing out to the fields to find Conn.

‘Where’s the master?’ she asked the stable hand.

‘Out riding.’

‘Which direction?’

‘He went to see the Grahams on the next farm. He should be coming back down the side track any time, I reckon, because he went a while ago.’

Without thinking, Maia set off running to find him.

To her relief she met Conn after a couple of hundred yards and stopped to try to regain her breath, as he reined in and slid down from the horse.

‘What’s the matter? My mother’s all right, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. But she sent me – to warn you. Two wagons arrived – your wife is in one.’

‘
My wife?
Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure that’s what your mother said. I’ve never met your wife. The woman in the cart looked . . . very angry.’

‘That’s the right word for Kathleen. She was always angry with the world. Nothing was ever right for her except her horses.’

He stood for a moment or two like one carved from stone, looking suddenly years older, then let out his breath slowly. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a ride back to the house behind me.’ Without waiting for her answer, he remounted and leaned down. ‘Put your foot on my stirrup. There.’ He pulled Maia up and she managed to get one leg across the horse, heedless that she was showing her lower legs.

Conn clicked his tongue and the horse set off as soon as she was securely seated. ‘I can’t believe the woman would follow me out here. It’s not as if she cares for me – never did.’

Maia put her arms round his waist, resting her head against his back and wishing the ride could last longer, but all too soon they arrived at the stables.

‘Get down quickly.’

She slid off the horse, stumbling as her feet touched the ground.

‘Sean! You’re needed.’ He was dismounting even as he called for his head groom, and when no one came running, he thrust the reins into her hands. ‘Here. Hold him till Sean can take him off you.’

So she was left standing in the stable yard with the sun shining down as if it was mocking her and the horse moving restlessly to and fro. She kept wondering what was going on inside the house, worrying about Mrs Largan – and him.

He had never seemed so far out of her reach.

6

X
anthe reached the veranda before the wagons stopped outside the house. ‘Maia’s gone to find Conn,’ she told her mistress in a low voice.

Mrs Largan nodded, looking relieved. ‘Good. At least he’ll have a little warning.’

‘I didn’t know—’

‘That he was married? Didn’t your sister tell you? He told her. I insisted he did.’

‘No, she didn’t say a word.’ It explained a lot, though.

‘His wife is a dreadful woman. She’ll try to take over here and she—don’t let her hit you.’

Xanthe gaped at this comment. ‘
Hit me?
Just let her try!’

‘She hits out blindly if she’s upset. She has a terrible temper.’

What sort of a woman was Conn’s wife that such a warning was necessary?

Her mistress’s face took on an expression of grim distaste as she watched the carts, a look Xanthe didn’t remember seeing on her face before. Normally Mrs Largan was the gentlest of women, with time and a smile for everyone, whatever their faults.

‘Remember,
I
give you your orders here, Xanthe, not her. Don’t be afraid to check with me first about anything that doesn’t seem reasonable. She can cause mischief, as well as messing up domestic arrangements on a whim. We don’t have enough staff here to run round after her. My husband used to find her silly behaviour amusing; I never did.’

‘I’ll remember that. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to stand up for myself.’

‘Tell your sister too.’ Mrs Largan eased herself to her feet, leaning on her walking stick as she studied the newcomers. ‘The gentleman with her is Ronan Maguire, a good friend of Conn’s, the other man is Bram Deagan, who used to work in the stables at Shilmara, and the maid looks like – it must be little Orla. My goodness, how she’s grown! I can’t think what’s brought them all here, but I wish with all my heart they hadn’t come. Wherever Kathleen goes there’s sure to be trouble.’

It was the second time she’d said that, Xanthe thought, studying Conn’s wife carefully. She was a stocky woman dressed in clothes which didn’t flatter her at all and had a rather plain, masculine-looking face.

The two women on the cart sat waiting while Ronan jumped lightly down and strode towards the veranda.

Xanthe saw Conn’s wife look after him indignantly, one hand stretched out to be helped down, but he made no effort to help her. The man called Bram hesitated, then turned to assist her.

As Ronan Maguire came closer, Xanthe forgot the rest of them. He wasn’t handsome but he was an attractive fellow with his brown hair gleaming in the sun, which lit it to almost auburn. His face looked as if it was made for smiling, though at the moment his expression was as grim as Mrs Largan’s and he seemed full of suppressed anger.

Ronan? Why did the name sound familiar? Then she realised it was the man who was to bring their money from England and her heart leaped in anticipation. If she had her money, she could start making plans for travelling.

He took Conn’s mother’s hand, clasping it in his for a moment. ‘Mrs Largan. I’m delighted to see you again. I hope you’ll forgive us for turning up without warning.’ He bent his head to say more quietly, ‘And sorry I am to have brought
her
. I didn’t know she was on board till after the ship had sailed, or I swear I’d have had her kidnapped and locked away till it left Southampton. We both know she’ll upset everyone. She always does.’ He kept his hostess’s hand clasped in his as he looked questioningly towards her companion.